


Our Beginnings: Prologue to Twisted Existence

by orphan_account



Category: Bleach
Genre: Anal Sex, Character Death, Drama, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Graphic Description, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Violence, Prologue, Romance, Rough Sex, Violence, War, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 14:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 39,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1861470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the assault on Hueco Mundo, before the fate of Las Noches was determined by two Espada and their orange haired lover, there was a time when the Sexta and Octava had suffered Aizen's tyranny alone, their lives changed and twisted forever from their very beginnings when they became Hollows... Prologue to my Szay/Ichi/Grimm story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. King Without a Crown

**Author's Note:**

> As promised, here is the prologue to Twisted Existence. Re-uploaded from my fanfiction. 
> 
> The same warnings stand for this prologue fic as well. Explicit rating for explicit sexy times later on, and explicit language courtesy of Mr Jaegerjaquez.

The harsh blinding glare of the midday sun beat down upon the wooden rows of shacks. Streams of golden rays seeped through cracks in dilapidated iron metal sheets, the rusty and weathered material being the closest structures stable enough to equal roofs.

Crudely constructed balconies and splintered timber stalls jutted out from the close-knit strings of housing, the offending objects aligned at uneven perpendicular angles serving to only narrow what little alley space there already was.

The stench of the filth of animals and the rotting reek of decaying flesh permeated the air, the remains of beasts killed for food left to steep in the sun's glow. Flies buzzed around the carcasses, withered shop owners too weary to even consider swatting them away. Smoke rose in columns from small chimneys, the grey fog smothering the claustrophobic walkways making the very oxygen a seemingly poisonous fume to breathe.

The heat bore down, the lack of ventilation creating an intolerable discomfort for all of those who were forced to live here, in the very slums of Soul Society. The 78th District of South Rukongai, Inuzuri.

_Howling Dog._

It was perhaps not ironic how the name of this hapless dreg of life lived up to the continual howls of feral strays scouring the darkened paths at night, scavenging for scraps of food in the waste and excrement of the day. The district, and its residents, was as dangerous and as wild, as untameable, as the very rogue vermin which roamed the streets in their nightly prowls – predators always on the lookout for their prey.

A group of children raced through the congregating throngs of souls, the sweat and grime-slicked youths stumbling and roughly pushing past the masses of the crowds, their mud-caked feet bare and covered with blisters long since infected.

Annoyed yells and cries passed the lips of the elder citizens, the teens finding themselves shoved hardly out of the way. Stumbling, cusses flying in enraged tones from both young and old, the youths continued on, barrelling their way through the asphyxiating market quarter.

Their clothes little more than tattered and frayed garments, barely clinging onto their frail and malnourished forms, the children turned a corner, eager to pursue their latest victim. The small boy who had managed to sneak a slice of fish from an unsuspecting vendor raced on in blind fear, gripping the small portion of food to his chest.

Their plight was ignored, the children reduced to little more than the scavenging dogs and cats at night.

The small boy stumbled, quickly losing his will for escape. His hunger overtook his senses, his body already too weak to continue supporting him. He fell to the dust-ridden ground, pained gasps for breath leaving his chapped and parted lips. The group of children laughed, descending upon the vulnerable being, pounding and biting, kicking and scratching his face into the dirt.

Such was the life of the Inuzuri district. The boy's screams went unheeded, his last desperate pleas for mercy soon fading into a startling silence. His maimed body lay unmoving, unbreathing, still as death in the mud. Yet another life was lost in the impoverished slum of the world.

Cackling in their latest stake, the youths tore into the slice of meat, ripping it apart like animals. They held no care for their surroundings, their minds trained on only the promise of something to fill their insatiable stomachs. They were not aware of the figure that had moved closer, the steady, heavy footfalls of the stranger as ominous as the sudden hush of quiet which blanketed the narrow alleyway.

Eyes diverted in fear, the vendors hastily retreated to hide under their stalls. The children continued to eat and snarl, blissfully unaware of the imminent threat approaching. It was their undoing.

"Beat it, brats."

Frightened gasps emanated in the air, its foreboding heaviness now falling thickly upon the children's senses as they turned around upon hearing the low, rough growl. Their eyes widened, the youths froze in their place, their muscles unable to move. The atmosphere became thin, the oppressive force of a wild reiatsu swirling in threatening ripples and rooting them to the ground.

The air was hard to breathe, their lungs feeling as if they were crushing inside of their chests from the brutal pressure. Cold sweat matting their locks and sticking it to their foreheads, the boys timidly raised their pitiful gaze to meet the man standing before them.

They began trembling. His tall and muscled form was well-built, each toned dip of his abdominals and the corded strength of his arms clearly built for one purpose, and one purpose alone. This man was a killer. His face, handsome in appearance and framed by an unruly mass of black locks, almost a dark navy blue in the small glimmers of sunlight, was hard and defined with prominent sharp features. But what held the most threat despite the stealthy and obvious imposing strength of his limbs, were his eyes.

The vibrant cyan depths of his irises burned brightly with malicious intent into the prone forms of his victims. Cold and calculating, his eyes were the eyes of a true predator.

He was the one person whom was regarded with the utmost reverence and fear of in this district. His very name had long since been forgotten and shunned, the residents not daring to speak in anything above a hushed whisper at the mere mention of him. They called him 'King'. He listened to no one. He was a ruler unto himself.

"I said yer in my fuckin' way.  _Move it_."

His rough voice, deep and harsh, echoed around the unsettlingly still alleyway. His eyes narrowed, the man approaching forwards. Whimpers of fear passed the children's lips, their mouths trembling with their inability to speak.

Screams ripped apart the silence, the man swinging out and kicking his leg straight up into the chests of the youths, the impact sending them hurtling backwards and crashing into nearby crates with a dull thud. Grunts of pain escaped split lips, crimson blood splattered from grazed cuts, and debris came tumbling down around the injured children. The sickening snap of bone accompanied the serenade of horrified wails – someone had begun crying out, two of the boys hitting the wooden surface of the surrounding shacks, the force crushing their frail bodies and causing death upon impact.

He didn't care. He advanced forwards, the mortified gasps of residents simply passing over him, cloaking him in the shroud of hatred and awe that he had earned for himself upon coming here.

He sneered, his lips pulling apart to reveal rows of white teeth as he gazed hardly at those in the alleyway. They were pathetic, the whole lot of them. He was alone, and he preferred it that way. Everyone was worthless. Child, woman or man, it didn't matter. He would tear through them all. That was how he learnt to live, and that was what he would remind them of.

He sniggered at the continued gasps and murmurings of the shop owners, the residents shying away from his oncoming approach. His smile became wild, a manic grin. Who cared if some group of brats got in the way or were killed? This was Inuzuri. You lived to survive. Those that couldn't would inevitably die anyway.

_Better sooner than later._

The weak would always fall before the strong; that was the one constant in the world. And it was the sole principle he based his sordid existence upon.

He was King.

He would continue to crush anyone and everyone.

* * *

Turning the corner out of the alley, his sharp blue eyes scanned the hastily dispersing crowds. The midday sun beat down. The wind gusting through the dry branches of trees from close by drew his sight towards the towering city of imperial palaces rising high above the mountains in the distance. He sneered once more; the arrogant white towers of Seireitei gazed down upon the dirt and decay of Rukongai with mocking contempt. He had no cares for the shinigami or for their so-called 'Gotei 13', yet he loved it when those foolish – or brave – enough would venture down to the southernmost parts of their underworld.

He was always there waiting for them. None made it back alive.

He would never pass up the opportunity to fight those who looked down upon him. He would make sure even the fucking Soul King would become painfully aware of that fact.

Movement from behind caught his attention, the man turning his head to inspect the source of the disturbance. His eyes narrowed once more. Three men were approaching; evidently they were newbloods, fresh souls from the harvest of hapless sods who had the misfortune to end up here upon their death in the World of the Living. He could tell that these strangers were the latest 'recruits' as it were – their clothes were far too clean, and their bodies were far too nourished. Their skin was healthy and golden, their features not grime-soaked like the rest of the residents of Inuzuri.

Also – they had the nerve to approach him.

He straightened himself up to his full height, his 6'1" frame an intimidating force. His eyes were alight with cunning intent as he observed the trio, his mind sharply sizing them up and gauging their bodies for obvious weaknesses. So far, he saw none. His lips curved upwards into a sneer. This was good – the only thing better than fresh prey was prey who could put up a willing fight.

"You there." One of them spoke; he was the tallest of the group, close to 6'5", his form heavyset and bulky.

The man regarded him coolly, his cyan eyes trained carefully on the taller male as he approached.

"You're the one they call 'King', right?"

The blue eyed male crossed his arms over his muscled chest, his eyes glancing steadily up into the dark brown depths of his assailant. He didn't respond. He had no need to.

The taller man simply sneered, cracking his knuckles carefully, the snapping of joints permeating the tense atmosphere.

"I've 'eard stories about you,  _King_ ," he continued, his tone mocking, "an' I don't like 'em very much." Alongside him, his two friends drew up, sniggers leaving their lips as they too balled their fists up.

The cyan blue eyed male merely raised a brow in response.

"No one said ya had to like 'em." He replied, his rough voice laced with a venomous warning.

The trio's eyes widened, their lips pulling apart into wide grins.

"Well aren't you just full of yourself, eh, 'King'? I don't like it when my prey fight back, so let's make this quick and simple. Don't struggle and it'll all be over relatively painlessly... relatively."

The man's sniggers were cut short, his expression quickly smoothing over into a look of annoyance. The blue eyed male gave no retort to his words, nor did he even give any sign that he had heard them in the first place. He continued to remain silent, gazing at the three.

The leader's eyes narrowed, his brow twitching in anger.

"Oi! Answer me when I'm talking to ya, you little piece of shit!"

The blue eyed male blinked, his cyan eyes returning to the man in front of him. A few seconds of silence went by. Then, he smiled.

His assailants' eyes widened, faint nervous gasps falling from their lips. The man's smile was wild, his lips pulled apart into a truly feral grin which split across his face. The sight was unsettling, and the men found themselves stumbling.

"Wha-what's going on?" One of them cried out, his voice a choked gasp for breath. The air became hard to breathe, the ground seeming to rise up to meet them. The shorter two fell to the dirt, wheezing as the pressure crushed down upon their beings, the sense of vertigo truly overwhelming. The air felt dry and oppressive.

The taller man gasped out, his eyes alight with rage. The cyan blue eyed male continued to smile, his features now truly animalistic, his dense reiatsu rippling around him in waves.

"Don't go talkin' to me about prey. You three are pathetic. Yer not even worth my time. Ya think you're tough? That you can take me on? Is that it? I'll kill anyone who looks down on me. So bow down to yer King, as I put you in yer fuckin' place…"

His voice rose into a rumble of laughter, its sound as harsh as the bone-chilling howls that pierced the night air. With one swift movement, he threw his fist back, extending his fingertips and thrusting his palm straight through the taller man's chest. Brown eyes widened into an expression laced with horror, disbelief and anger, choked garbled noises passing his lips.

The blue eyed man's laughter continued to ring harshly in his ears even as he thrust his hand further; gushes of fast-trickling scarlet dripped from his fingertips, sinews and remnants of heart and lung splattering down from the shorter males' blood-soaked hand. Small trails of blood were coughed up from the taller male, ruby life essence coating the blue eyed man's bare shoulders in its cascading warmth. One last wheeze of pain left the assailant's mouth, his jaw falling slack even as his eyes dulled, his features frozen into an eternal expression of hatred.

The blue eyed man smirked, his grin near maniacal. This was how he loved to see his foes; the horror in their eyes as they realised in those last fate-driven seconds before their lives were cut short, that they had known their King, and had  _feared_ him.

He pulled his bloodied hand free from the man's chest, the body falling lifeless to the mud below. His blue eyes were alight with the thrill of the fight, everything about his presence a hunter personified as he stalked towards the two remaining assailants, still lying incapacitated and vulnerable upon the ground.

He did not even spare them a moment's consideration. He lifted his foot, bringing it down with a hard  _smack_ upon the first man's skull, the cracking of fractured bone piercing the air. Blood and brain matter squelched and oozed forth, the ripples of unbridled laughter and killing intent rolling in waves off of the form of the King.

He descended upon his last victim, pausing when he was met with a face contorted into pure despair. The man's eyes were almost childlike for the blind panic that was portrayed within them. He lifted a hand slowly, his fingers trembling. His mouth opened and closed in pitiful movements, evidently trying to form speech. When he finally found his words, his voice was cracked and hoarse, unable to reach anything over a whisper.

"P-please… d-don't hurt… me…"

The blue eyed male paused, his head tilting to the side in an almost feline display of thought. His eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. His mouth curled down into a predatory sneer.

"You're pathetic."

The sound of bone breaking from bone tore apart the air for not the first time that day.

* * *

His footfalls silent upon the paved brick road, his body moved with a fluid efficiency. His cyan eyes continued to observe the empty fields before him; evergreen trees rustled and swayed, their boughs bending and creaking in the oncoming gusts of wind scented with the tell-tale musk of autumn.

The sun had dipped below the mountain range, its last golden glows streaking the sky with a brilliant onset of vibrant reds, oranges, and violets. The dying embers of the bright yellow star grew cold, the heat of the day fading to be replaced with the desperately welcomed night's chill.

His lips curling into a sneer, his cyan gaze drew towards the white-washed towers of Seireitei, standing like a royal palace over the landscape amidst the background of the halo of the sun's last light.

The dried blood on his shoulders glistened in blackened droplets as he swiftly turned away, the promise of further retribution hanging in the air. His feet touching the shoots of grass, he continued forth, seeking out the recluse of the forest groves. Occasionally he would find stray shinigami amongst the woods of the outer district of Inuzuri – he was hoping that tonight he would find others to help sate his unquenched thirst for the thrill of the fight.

Lost in his own swirling thoughts of bitter hatred, the night growing in its encompassing darkness, the minutes went by. Faint calls and howls of savage strays rang out from the echoing streets of the district he had left behind, the night beasts already beginning the hunt for food.

He moved silently, as stealthily as one such beast, his sharp eyes seeking his next target. Movement sounded from close by.

His eyes widening, his body instinctively tensed; his fists clenched up, his teeth gritting. He waited, poised and ready to strike.

He could sense the faint footsteps drawing nearer, his keen ears noting that whomever these steps belonged to, they did not move as one approaching with killing intent. Rather, they were purposeful, filled with determination. This stranger was following him, seeking him out. A snigger fell from his lips. It would be their undoing.

He paused, his fingers twitching slightly by his sides. He closed his eyes, using his lifelong experience of endless fighting to calm his breathing and focus. The footsteps stopped approximately a metre behind him. He waited a moment more. He heard the metallic ring of something being drawn from a holding behind him.

His eyes flared, the man spinning around and throwing his fist back, only to gasp out in angered shock when his hand collided with the sharp silver gleam of a blade rising to meet his attack and block.

Cyan eyes widened, pupils contracted into thin dots and his lips pulled into a feral growl, the stinging pain shooting through his wrist going unheeded from where the sword had cut into his tanned flesh.

He was met with thin lips pulling forth into a pleasant smile which made his stomach churn with hatred, dull brown eyes underneath black rectangular glasses staring back at him with an unsettling air of coolness and warmth. The taller man's brown hair was short and wavy around his face, and the blue eyed man's teeth grit tighter when he noted the white and black of the stranger's clothing; the shihakushou and the haori of a Gotei 13 Division captain.

Growling against the searing pain now tearing through his arm, the man quickly drew his fist back, making to lash out once more.

He raised his hand, crimson trickles of blood splattering to the ground, the man kicking his leg out with a powerful blow.

The captain merely smiled, a deep chuckle passing his lips. He re-sheathed his sword. The blue eyed man collapsed to the floor, his angered growls of protest permeating the clearing as he strained against the invisible bindings now coiling around his body. His expression was livid, his face contorted into the face of true death as he gazed and spat harshly at the man above, the man's kidou spell too strong to break free from.

He refused to admit that the swelling upsurge of reiatsu from this man in front of him caused his lungs to constrict tightly within his chest. He refused to admit that he could not struggle against the tight restrictive spell holding him down. He refused to admit that he was cornered for the first time in his existence, unable to fight back, unable to swing out and tear his foe apart. He refused to admit that he felt fear.

"FUCKIN' SHINIGAMI! WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?" His yell echoed in his ears, the words laced with such fury that even the very air seemed to still at his threatening tone.

The captain merely smiled once more, beginning to slowly circle the man growling and thrashing against his bonds, looking every bit a caged and wild beast.

"My name is Aizen Sousuke." The man's tone was deep yet quiet, filling the blue eyed man's ears and causing his teeth to audibly clench tighter. The man named Aizen paused, his lips pulling apart into a wider grin. His brown eyes echoed a fatherly air of understanding, his hands sliding to fold inside the sweeping sleeves of his captain's haori.

"GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" The man's thrashing became more pronounced, his rage only intensifying. His vision flecked with blue, his reiatsu already curling in heated pools of wrath around his incapacitated form. His bubbling loathing only increased when those lips pulled into a wider smile than before.

"Most interesting. You appear to have some will left to fight, even though your reiatsu is severely diminishing." His tone was soft and gentle, yet it did nothing to ease the crawling of the flailing man's skin. "This is the first time you have encountered the reiatsu of one of captain class, is it not? That is why you are unable to break free from those bonds, despite that Bakudou being so weak."

At these words, the man's struggles promptly subsided, his eyes widening and his lips pulling apart into an enraged snarl. His breath escaped him in sharp pants for breath, sweat beading down his forehead. He swallowed thickly.

"What the fuck did you just say?" He hissed, his voice a wild growl.

The shinigami chuckled, reaching further into his sleeve and withdrawing something the downed man could not quite see. His cyan eyes echoed intense loathing and suspicion.

"I have been studying you for quite some time. Your potent reiatsu will be of use to me for this test. I do believe you will make a fine addition, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez."

A shallow gasp left the blue eyed man's lips, his head snapping up to gaze enraged at the man in front of him.

"How do you know my name?" He whispered, his voice a wavering tremor, his tone so quiet that it almost went unheard.

The shinigami merely chuckled, his smirk widening and his eyes gleaming behind his glasses.

"Like I said, you will be of use to me."

Grimmjow's eyes flared, his teeth gritting tighter as he struggled harder against the bonds keeping him in place. His body was surging with an overwhelming sense of wrath; he didn't care who this man was, he didn't care how he knew his name or what he was planning on using him for, all he cared about was tearing him apart. And he would never stop ripping every shred of bone away from that man's body until he turned into the very dust he walked on.

The shinigami disappeared.

Grimmjow's eyes widened further, his body ceasing in his thrashing momentarily. His heart pounded fiercely inside his chest, every sense on alert. He cussed, his head turning from side to side, frantically trying to catch a glimpse of where the bastard had gone. If there was one thing he hated the most about shinigami, it was their high-speed movement – shunpo. It was virtually impossible to track.

A flash of black passed over his vision. He heard a rustle of movement. He felt a sharp searing pain course through his neck.

A long drawn-out yell of agony echoed through the woods, Grimmjow's head jerking back, his body twitching as every muscle, every limb in his body seared with an overwhelming agony. He cried out, his eyes alighting with pain and wrath, his muscles twitching as the white-hot heat spread further through his being, burning through every cell and bone.

"AAAAHH! W-WHA… WHAT DID… YOU… DO?!"

He shuddered, his lungs compressing, a foreign heaviness settling over his chest. His body jerked, high bellows of pain escaping his parted lips. The feeling grew, his limbs feeling weighted. He fell forwards, his arms and legs still helplessly bound together.

His vision quickly fogged, flecks of white dotting in his eyes – he felt dizzy and weak, everything happening so fast he was unable to form a coherent thought.

The only thing that registered was pain. Absolute, all-consuming pain. He screamed, even now his voice sounding high, watery – unlike his own. In one last desperate attempt to move, he raised his head, immediately wishing he had not done so when his vision exploded with white. He saw and felt his stomach empty itself, trails of the same thick whiteness pooling forth from his mouth. He gagged, choking and wheezing, each intake of breath only increasing his need to retch until he could breathe no more.

A shadow drew across in front of him, the figure of the shinigami captain smiling down upon the writhing man even now lessening his struggles against the Hollowfied carapace encasing around his chest, face and arms.

"Interesting. It seems your efforts to struggle only hasten the process. I knew you would prove useful to me, Grimmjow."

Grimmjow growled out, the sound no longer human but animal as the struggling male achingly lurched forwards, crying out against the protesting jerk of his body. He panted, his vision blackening. He locked his cyan eyes upon the smirking figure cloaked in the shadow of the night; cold brown eyes alighting with cruel intent under black rimmed glasses. His face was imprinted brightly in Grimmjow's mind, a roar of defiance issuing from his burning throat.

He was losing consciousness, his mind already struggling to give in to the lulling force of the heaviness encasing him. He grit his teeth, somewhere in his slackening brain functions he was already aware of just what was happening to him.

He managed to gasp out his last words, his voice no longer recognisable to even his own ears, the man desperately fighting to maintain his last stretch of sanity for a few seconds longer.

"I'll… k-kill… you…  _AI_ …  _ZEN_!"

The smirk upon pale lips was the last vision he saw.

His scream echoed through the blackened night, the sound morphing into a long drawn-out watery roar.

Those who heard in the districts of Rukongai merely glanced at one another before resuming their nightly business. The call of seemingly another wild beast resonated across the land before falling into silence once more.


	2. Victim of His Own

The endless drone of a mechanical beeping echoed around the small operating room. The walls were flooded with streams of light, the harsh rays reflecting sharply off of glass cabinets lined with silver instruments and syringes.

Green-clad figures rushed hastily to and fro, passing back and forth scalpels and tools made for precise incision. The woman lay atop the medical bed, her mouth filled with tubes and her arms pierced with needles, the monitors alongside her recording her internal readings in response to her quickly failing organ functions.

The beeping droned on, its monotonous ring seeping through the air serving as a chilling reminder of reality.

"How's it looking?"

"The cells have multiplied too quickly. We can't target them all."

"… Keep trying."

Their voices muffled by the masks they wore over their mouths, the doctor turned his attention back to the patient, the nurse doing likewise and handing him yet another scalpel. His eyes narrowing, he pressed the cold silver metal to the woman's pale skin, beginning to carve through the warm flesh with precise, small movements. The nurse quickly staunched the slight flow of blood which trickled out in response, dabbing the cut clean whilst the doctor made his next mark.

A sigh left his lips when his gloved hands moved further down the woman's stomach, the flesh pulling away to reveal the area of concern. The muscle was damaged, irreparably so. The afflicted cells had spread to her other vital organs, rendering the treatment she had been going under this past month redundant.

Chewing his lip, he glanced out of the corner of his eyes to gaze at the monitor screen. Her readings were suffering. The beeping of the machine continued to toll as if it were church bells signalling the loss of yet another life in the world.

He closed his eyes. She was not going to make it.

Biting back the rising curl of anger bubbling in his chest, he turned his head back to face the nurse.

"Doctor?" She questioned, her voice timid.

He nodded solemnly. The woman's expression fell; even behind her mask, the sadness echoed in her eyes was unmistakeable.

"Suture the wounds closed. I'll inform the family." He sighed, stepping back. His hazel eyes were hard, his teeth gritting tightly together when the tolling weight of the machine's beeping faded into an endless flat drone.

The woman died moments later.

Raising his head, he glanced steadily to the assembled medical staff. They moved forwards to tenderly unhook the monitors, the overhead lights shutting off as the shroud was placed over her sleeping form, blanketing the patient in darkness.

No one saw the tears brimming silently down his cheeks as the doctor turned around, swiftly exiting the operating theatre.

_I've failed._

* * *

Gazing sightlessly into the reflection of the glass window, its panes tinted and frosted with the first snow of winter, a heavy sigh fell from his lips, his eyes glancing back at him with dead emotion in their hazel depths.

Hearing the cries and despairing wails of the deceased's mother and daughter, the father acting to comfort the women in their distraught grief, the memory of the haunting image forever imprinted itself in his mind just like it always did when he informed loved ones of the operation. Once more, he was unable to save another soul from this accursed disease, no matter how hard he would try to sort out the stem of the debilitating affliction.

The nagging guilt and the overwhelming roiling of emotion swept up in waves to drown him in his sorrow, sending him thrashing into the turbulent depths of his tormented mind.

He thought it was a cruel irony that the world of medicine existed to save others from illness and disease, yet it was just as responsible for the untimely deaths of those whom it promised to save in the very first place.

It was a double-edged blade, one that only far too often had others greeted by the side which cut them through in the most twisted of ways.

Resting his forehead now against the cold chill of the windowpane, he reached up his hand and removed the green cap covering his head, allowing loose strands of shoulder length blonde hair to tumble freely from their confines. His fringe fell back down across his right eye, his long fingers immediately resuming their standard motion of brushing them out of his sight.

Throwing off the mask he had lowered to sit underneath his chin, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to become lost once more to his ceaseless thoughts. His chest heaved, a shuddering gasp escaping pale lips. Once more he began to sink down into the wretchedness of his anguish.

"I heard what happened. There was nothing more that could be done for her."

His eyes opened slowly, the doctor not needing to turn around to identify the face which belonged to the voice that had spoken to him. He already knew who it was, just by listening to the familiar smoothness of the man's tone.

The sound of footsteps drew nearer, the scuff of shoes scraping against the linoleum flooring coming to a pause from close by.

The doctor exhaled heavily once more, his hand curling into a tight fist against the window.

"It doesn't make it any less devastating." He whispered, his usually melodic voice now hoarse.

He heard a quiet sigh from the man behind him.

"The treatment just didn't work. That's all there is to it. I can understand how you're feeling, but didn't we promise that we wouldn't let ourselves be beaten by this?" The man questioned insistently.

The doctor turned around, his gaze weary as he locked eyes with dark brown.

"Did we?" He asked softly, his hazel irises steady. The brown eyed man's chest heaved, a sigh of exasperation passing his lips. Strands of long waist-length blonde locks fell from his loose hair tie, brushing past his tanned cheeks as he shook his head in annoyance.

"You're feeling stressed by this. You shouldn—"

"Shouldn't what, Yylfordt?" The doctor interrupted sharply, though his tone was still quiet. "I'm interested to hear what hasn't already been said to me countless times before from you, brother."

Yylfordt's eyes narrowed slightly, his expression hard as he gazed steadily back at the other man.

"Well if only you would listen to me for once, Szayel, I wouldn't have to keep telling you." He murmured.

Szayel scoffed faintly, his pale lips pulling into a humourless smile as he moved away from the window, stepping past his sibling and reaching behind his back to untie the knots which held his medical scrubs in place. He departed into the nearby locker room, silence now filling the narrow corridor until he re-entered moments later, wearing jeans and a black zip-up jacket.

Yylfordt moved forwards, his hands moving to rest inside his own jeans pockets. He opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off.

"This disease, whatever it is, works by accelerating abnormal growth in skin and organ cells. That woman was the fifteenth patient in this hospital to lose her life – just one of the hundreds of patients admitted to hospitals around the country with the same symptoms." Szayel recited, his expression set and his tone louder so as to avoid argument.

He ignored the further noise of exasperation that passed his brother's lips, Yylfordt falling into step beside his sibling as the doctor continued further towards the door, now reaching out and discarding the scrubs into a nearby bin.

"Szayel, give it a res—"

" _Despite this_ , all attempts at contriving an appropriate treatment which can battle these multiplying cells have gone to waste. Out of these five hundred operations performed in the country, only eighty seven have been successful." Szayel continued, once more interjecting over his brother's plea, the pair now proceeding through the bustling ward hallway. "That gives a death rate of almost eighty three percent, hmm?"

Yylfordt regarded his brother's features carefully, his brown eyes studying the fatigue in hazel irises and the pale tone of the younger man's skin. He was exhausted and distressed, and yet the slighter male still stubbornly refused to acknowledge that this matter was simply one which could be resolved all in due time.

"You're being negative about this." Yylfordt mentioned quietly.

Szayel continued to gaze ahead of him.

"I don't look at the positives on this matter, Yylfordt." He murmured, his voice flat.

"It's about time you should. You're wearing yourself out over something which can be easily fixed if you just wait for more results to come in. You're not the only expert in the field, you know." Yylfordt retorted, now beginning to lose his patience.

"Maybe I can cross-check the records of the autopsies and obtain samples to help with the cure?" Szayel mused, his voice quiet as if he was speaking only to himself, blatantly ignoring his brother's input once more.

By now, Yylfordt was close to snapping point. He reached out, clamping his hand firmly around Szayel's forearm, pulling the younger man back. Szayel's eyes narrowed, his head turning to gaze at the other blonde with an irritated expression on his delicate features.

"Let go of me." He demanded.

Yylfordt shook his head.

"You should listen to yourself, brother. I get that you really want to save these people, I do, but you need to calm down and just take a break from it all. Help will come, and when it does  _then_ you can give your input. Can't you do this for me? I worry about you, I really do." The older male hissed urgently.

Hazel eyes gazed steadily into dark brown, an unreadable expression forming on pale features as the doctor fell silent for a moment.

Sighing quietly a minute later, he carefully pulled his arm out of Yylfordt's grip, his gaze redirecting back up to look into the tanned male's face.

When he responded, his melodic voice was a mere whisper.

"Help? I don't need anyone's help with this. Especially not from you."

Yylfordt's eyes widened, his mouth falling open slightly in shock at this statement when the younger man simply turned back around, continuing his trek towards the ward exit.

Szayel didn't spare a glance behind him, knowing that his brother would only follow regardless. He took a deep breath, fully aware that his words had been hurtful. It was intentionally so – he refused to allow himself thoughts of failing the treatment that would finally work to reduce the damage caused by this nameless affliction.

Despite this, however, he was thankful for his brother's concern, though he did not often show it. Chewing his lip, his mind fell once more into anguished dwellings upon the expressions of turmoil and unrestrained grief he had witnessed in the faces of the woman's family. His fists clenched by his sides.

He felt responsible for the trauma, in fact, he knew that somehow he was. He was loathe to admit such things, yet over this past month he was determined to set that aside to focus solely on the issues presented to him.

These people were dying. The treatments formed were unsuccessful. The reports had shattered the world of medicine into irreparable fragments, and most of all, it had shattered him. His resolve swiftly strengthening, as Szayelaporro Granz stepped out onto the street, the air carrying with it a gust of icy wind, he swore to himself that he would find this cure or die himself trying.

* * *

Five hundred and eighteen.

He threw the file down onto the glossed mahogany desk, the folder's contents shifting and sliding out of their bindings from the impact.

A tired chuckle left his lips, his eyes closing as he pressed his palm to his forehead. His humourless laughter soon turned into unsteady breaths, his shoulders threatening to tremble with the need to give in to his anguished sobs.

Five hundred and eighteen deaths.

Pulling away and running his fingers through stray locks of his hair, Szayel willed himself to regain his sense of self-control. Inhaling sharply, he forced himself to steady his mind as he walked towards the open doorway of the hospital's laboratory.

Glancing up at the clock, its steady ticking seeming to echo through the dead silence of the pristine white and silver metal corridors, his hazel eyes gave no regard to the early approach of the morning.

This wasn't the first time over the past month that he had shut himself away in this room at this ungodly hour.

He swept his gaze over towards the computer screens aligning the far wall, the monitors already functioning and recording data of the latest tissue samples the facility had acquired. He considered them momentarily, before walking over to the bench top which he had previously set up with microscopes and petri dishes.

His eyes narrowed whilst he observed the solution laid out before him. Until that latest patient's death last week, this was the cure that had been settled upon by the hospital to use.

He had examined every cell, every molecule inside that colourless formula, and he still could not understand why it hadn't worked.

And now the death count was rising. He was running out of time.

_I cross-checked all the records and found nothing. What am I missing?_

His thoughts despaired, he reached out a long fingered hand and took the petri dish, navigating his way past the clutter of tables and instruments towards the beakers, test tubes and phials of various chemicals standing in wait at the cleared workspace nearby.

For the past three days, he had been working on a catalyst to produce a replication of the cell division which the autopsy reports had outlined. He had created many copies of varying substances which he had thought would work about reversing this raging mutation.

Every time he believed he had come close to finding the answer, it had slipped away from his grasp.

Sighing heavily, his spirits downfallen, he resumed his ritual of combining the latest two products he had spent his waking hours on developing. The liquid hissed and bubbled before him, small swirls of grey smoke filtering from the glass beaker in a gaseous fume.

Lifting out his hand and enclosing his fingers around a small bottle, he carefully poured out the droplets of a dark red liquid. This particular chemical was one he had not tried before, having been the result of his latest work just that very morning.

Even now he chewed his lip in thought, running a hand through his hair as sharp hazel eyes carefully observed the swift changing of the solution's colouring to form a vibrant pinkish hue. The chemical's hissing became a harsh spitting, droplets of hot contaminant splattering forth from the glass.

Picking up a pen which was resting atop the table, he bent down and began writing along the clipboard he had placed next to it. A few moments of silence went by, broken only by the bubbling rush of the chemical before him and the scratching of pen on paper as he methodically recorded the changes occurring with his latest experiment.

The swift gurgling spitting and the sound of shaking emanating from the beaker was what made him lift his head up quickly, the pen dropping from his hands and the clipboard lying all but forgotten.

His eyes widening, Szayel gave a sharp intake of breath, raising his arm and shielding his face from the molten solution when the bubbling liquid rose to the beaker's lid, pooling out and spitting harshly. Some rampant drops landed against his forearm and strands of his hair, the hot substance causing him to jerk away. Gritting his teeth, he winced when he felt its searing burn tingling through his skin, the solution seeming to fray the material of his laboratory coat.

The angry hissing from the chemical continued until it slowly reached its limit, the liquid now calming to a temperate simmer and receding back down to the centre of the beaker. Waiting a moment longer, Szayel slowly lowered his arm. The pain coursing through the limb continued to prickle his skin uncomfortably, faint droplets of sweat sheening on his forehead as a result. Willing himself to ignore the dull ache to the best of his ability, he squinted his eyes and looked down to observe the extent of the damage.

His brows raising, he was surprised to see that his coat, apart from being stained a pale rose colour, was otherwise unharmed. As he was reaching out his free hand to pull back his sleeve, his attention was drawn to damp strands of his hair which had fallen over his right eye.

Strands of honey blonde hair which were now almost a bubble gum pink.

"Shit." He muttered, his eyes narrowing as he swept his hair behind his ear. He would deal with that later. Turning his attention back towards his arm, he winced once more when he grabbed his sleeve and pulled it back.

His skin was scalded a violent red. Groaning, he pulled the sleeve back down, flinching as he did so, his chest seeming to feel tight in his exasperation at his carelessness.

 _What have I done this time?_ He thought bitterly, his pale lips parting to take in much-needed gasps of air to steady himself.

His chest seemed to tighten once more, his frustration at his uncharacteristic disregard for personal safety in the laboratory stabbing away relentlessly at his mind, just as the excruciating ache in his arms stabbed mercilessly through his limbs. He was now hyperventilating, each breath escaping his lips faster than before and serving to throw his mind into further disarray.

_Perfect. Just perfect. How could I be so idiotic?_

Slamming his fist against the table, he reeled and pressed his free hand to his forehead. Gritting his teeth, he cussed faintly as the action sent a wave of nausea flowing through his body.

He waited a few moments, trying to calm his breathing. Possibilities of everything that could have gone wrong flooded his mind, his brain working to fix the problem with the solution. He only succeeded in increasing his anxiety; each attempt to relax himself resulted in his breathing becoming increasingly shallow.

Frustrated, he stepped back only to cry out when he stumbled, a gasp falling from his throat as his legs gave out from under him. He fell forwards, narrowly missing the collision of his head with the sharp metallic edge of the table top. With a sudden surge of blind fear coursing his limbs, he realised in that one moment that his body was not reacting to his stress.

His chest felt dizzyingly tight. He wasn't hyperventilating.

He was struggling to breathe.

In that one moment, he felt his whole world come crashing down around him, just as he crashed down onto the cold laminated flooring, his body twitching and convulsing in violent spasms.

Panic rang out through his brain, his gasps strained and his stomach fighting the urge to empty its contents. He clamped a trembling hand to his mouth, keeping the bile back as he gagged, his body lurching forwards as he shook.

He wasn't fighting to keep control of himself. He was fighting to stay alive.

"N-n…o…"

His voice was hoarse and raw, his chest heaving. He tried to reach out, to find something,  _anything_ , to counteract the toxins which his oxygen-lacking brain was slowly working on realising had been absorbed into his skin.

His throat burned, his skin scalded. His vision blurred, his lungs constricted.

His limbs felt heavy.

_No._

He retched, the last desperate mouthful of air leaving his throat, his lungs unable to draw more oxygen.

_No!_

His eyes were swimming with tears even as his vision darkened. He was quickly losing consciousness, his trembling hand outstretched towards the tabletop. He caught faint sight of the petri dish seated on its surface.

_No… not like this…_

He could feel the sluggish pull of his heart in his chest, his lungs no longer working to drag in frantic gasps for air. He felt himself go slack, already falling down, down into the pit that rose out to meet him.

His spasms slowed, his heartbeat echoing in his ears with a distorted deep, slow  _thud_  - too slow to keep up with his blood flow. Nausea hit him once more, his head falling flat against the ground, his cheek hitting the cool flooring just as the rest of his body did in suit.

If he was able to think clearly, he would have known that he had failed. He never would find the cure for that disease.

He really had died trying.

Szayel's mouth moved, blurry images of the dead woman, the tears of her family, and the hurt in his brother's eyes swimming through his dizzy mind. His hand fell towards the floor, his fingers twitching weakly. White spots danced across his eyes.

"I'm… s-sor…ry…"

Only one word rang loud and clear through his head, even as his body stilled in its final throes.

_Failed._

His world went black.

* * *

Rapping his knuckles hardly against the laboratory door, Yylfordt's eyes narrowed further when he received no response yet again. He tried once more, this time knocking louder.

He was met with a resounding silence. Groaning, he pressed his forehead against the doorframe.

"Szayel?" He called out, his smooth voice laced with anger. He hissed in agitation when he was met with no answer. He slammed his hand against the wall in frustration.

"Szayel, I know you're in there! Let me in!"

He had been trying to find his younger brother for the past half an hour. Someone had been called into the emergency operating theatre. There had been another incident. No one had seen the doctor in charge of the operation, Yylfordt being asked by the administration to find his brother quickly. Time was running out for the patient – a young boy.

Finally reaching his wit's end, Yylfordt stepped back, making to burst the door open by force. Anxiety ate away at him from the inside out. This was not like his brother – he had never shut himself away like this before. Something wasn't right.

Just as he was about to enter the security code to bypass the locks, he was paused in his actions when a distinct crashing noise echoed from the other side of the metallic doorway. His eyes widening, he pressed his ear against the cold surface, straining to identify whatever it might be.

There was silence for another second, then what sounded like a shattering scream tore apart the air, the sound an unnatural watery cry of anguish.

A gasp left his lips – Yylfordt's eyes wide in horror. He felt a sinking pain stabbing away at his stomach. His heart pounded relentlessly inside his chest, the very sound of that bellow reaching his ears and causing his blood to turn into ice underneath his skin.

"No…"

He fumbled with the lock, the door finally sliding open. His mind a flurry of fear as the blonde haired man raced through the laboratory, his footsteps were drowned out by the sound of a vicious rumbling, the ground shaking as if an earthquake had ripped through the foundations beneath his feet.

"NO!"

He didn't know why he was screaming. He didn't know why he was blinded by an all-encompassing fear that consumed all the rational thought he had left. All he did know was that Szayel was in there. And something had happened to him.

Coming to a halt at the doorway which had long-since been thrown off of its hinges, brown eyes widened at the crumbling debris of the upturned tables – chemicals spilt and beakers shattered, pungent smells and wisps of smoke rising in a noxious fume from the destruction inside.

It was not this which drew his gaze though, as he swallowed thickly, his body trembling.

It was the creature that was standing amidst the centre of this chaos.

Time came to a standstill as he gazed, frozen in place at the towering  _monster_  before him – its torso and lower half nothing but a single serpentine tail, winding through the extensive laboratory and whipping against the walls, leaving crumbling dents of plaster in its wake. Its arms were four pale white appendages joined to the creature's scaled back, expanding out in a monstrous wingspan, stretching from one wall to the other. Hands, or what could be likened to hands, were emerging forth from these wing-like appendages, bulbous red casings twitching and jerking with claw-like protrusions. Cascades of pink locks ran down the monster's back. A perfectly round, circular hole adorned the creature's midsection.

But what drew Yylfordt's gaze the most was the creature's face, for there was none. All he could see was a white mask of bone stretching across what would be the monster's head, small slits of glowing amber the only thing visible amidst the eye-like cracks marring its smooth surface. And as he gazed into these glowing eyes, with a terrible sinking of his stomach he knew just who it was that he was looking at.

"Szayel…" His voice cracked, coming out as nothing but a mere whisper.

The beast that his brother had become slowly ceased its restless thrashing, its head lowering down to lock its unblinking gaze onto the form of the man below, so small, so vulnerable in the creature's towering presence.

Yylfordt shook, his lip trembling as he made to take a step back. He found that he couldn't. The cold dead of that creature's eyes bore into him, pinning him in place and seeming to burn into his very soul. His mind went blank. He was unable to run, unable to hide. In that moment, he knew that it would all be over.

Three long, agonising seconds went by.

"S-Szayel..." He swallowed thickly, Yylfordt's eyes gazing haplessly at the monster before him. His heart pumped quickly inside his chest, adrenalin coursing through him and only serving to heighten his fear.

The creature did not respond. A strange hissing noise filled the tense air, the serpentine tail flicking against the wall and shaking the broken laboratory. Yylfordt stumbled and fell onto the ground, a cry falling from his mouth and his breathing intensifying as he quickly looked up. The beast was slowly approaching, sliding sickeningly forwards with purposeful intent.

"Szayel… I-it's me…" Yylfordt pleaded, his voice wavering. He was scared. He was truly terrified.

The creature continued to approach forwards, ever so slowly. Yylfordt held his breath, his body racking with shudders. He tried to swallow once more, but his throat was too dry. His mind was dizzy with fear.

"P-please..." He tried to reason, tried to keep Szayel - no, the  _monster_ \- at bay, to keep it from inching closer. He gasped sharply when the beast stopped, its head tilting slightly to the side in what appeared to be a moment of consideration. Golden eyes continued to glow faintly through the slits of that white mask. For a brief second his hopes soared, Yylfordt scrambling up to his feet and almost falling back against the floor in his eagerness to escape.

He was about to step back once more when he was halted in his tracks. What brief flying fantasy of hope that he had now swiftly crumbled around him.

The creature lifted its head back, a gaping maw for a mouth slowly parting from underneath the seamless structure of the mask coating its head. It was nothing but a black pit, sharp fangs of teeth glistening in the dim lighting of the room.

An echoing beastly howl rent the air apart. Yylfordt ran.

His screams were swallowed by the thunderous roar of the hollow creature as it bore down.

He tried to escape.

He never did.


	3. Branded with a Name

The silence which rose to meet the halls weighed heavily upon ears, the cavernous room enshrouded in sparsely anything but a black, dead shadow.

Nothing moved save for the occasional shift of limbs, the assembled seven seated down and their keen eyes trained upon the only feature to be shown in the barren space; a cube-like glass structure, wide in diameter and large enough to house a man. If 'man' could be the name for it.

Even as the silence was broken by a loud creaking groan, the heavy marble doors sliding open, pale beams of light flooding the near pitch-blackness of the chamber and causing eyes to blink against the sudden glow, the hazy figure encased in the crystalline prison began to stir. Muffled noises faintly passed through the air, the entrapped creature seeming to cry out in distress.

It was paid no mind, six pairs of eyes instead training intently upon the man whom had begun his slow approach, his shadow casting an imposing form upon the ground beneath his feet, his footsteps echoing clearly in that silent space.

The seventh of the gathering however had his eyes focused only on the encased figure, or what little he could see of it through the glittering shards of the prison's outer casing as they caught the reflection of the hallway's light.

Cyan eyes narrowing, his expression became remorseful at witnessing yet another welcoming of some unlucky soul into the hell that was the land of Hueco Mundo – its palace, Las Noches.

He hated it, the land that he had woken up to, the land that he had been forced into accepting as his own. For so long all he had seen was never ending black, the darkness of his mind as he sank down into the pit of rage which had turned him into the beast that he now was.

And when he had been freed of that suffering, that sordid existence of preying upon the worthless in the dead of night, his feline body the one true predator of the sands, never ending black was all he had continued to see in the form of the cold night sky of Hueco Mundo, its crescent moon shining with a corpse light of impure silver upon the dome of a palace as equally lifeless as the world above and before it.

His jaw clenched, tanned features creasing into an expression which was nothing short of dangerous. His fists tightened over his knees.

Unlike the others who were with him, he spared no glance towards the man garbed in white now outstretching his hand towards the glass prison, a glowing orb grasped in his palm. He refused to lay sight on him. Not until he tore him apart. That was the only thought which kept him going.

A rising wail echoed through the heavy atmosphere, all eyes trained intently upon the figure restrained inside its crystalline confines. Not one muscle moved, not one person made to help the distressed victim.

A bitter smile formed on Grimmjow's lips, strands of sky blue hair brushing past his forehead as he shifted in his seat, drawing his arms over his chest and crossing them.

_Wonder who the new bastard will be?_ He mused humourlessly.

He remembered this well, as did the six surrounding him. Six who, like him, had undergone the same process and were now marked as warriors of the one leader they never wanted to serve. They were reigned in, brought down to bow before a tyrant who stripped them away of their freedom. They were given new life only to have it be taken away again, branded with a name which overruled their own.

Espada.

The wails grew louder, sounds of a sharp glass-like cracking emanating from the casing in the centre of the room. It wouldn't be long now; what could be made out as hands were hastily pushing against the barrier, fists pounding away to seek escape from within.

Grimmjow closed his eyes, a slow breath being exhaled from his lips. It had been one of the worst kinds of hell he had known. He remembered the pain, the excruciating pain of bone tearing away from skin, his joints screaming against his body as they extended and shifted all whilst he was conscious, predatory claws curling and moulding into soft fingers – powerful limbs shaping out and morphing into a human casing.

And when the mask, that fucking mask had finally been ripped from his face after he had nearly clawed his weakened fingertips raw, it was as if an explosion had torn apart the air right in front of him. He had fallen, gagging and gasping, his eyes watering against the overwhelming agony of finally being freed from the blackness which had consumed him whole since that one night what felt a lifetime ago.

The memories had all come rushing back to him as he lay there, twitching, retching amidst his gasps for breath. The memories of the day he had become a Hollow.

He had opened his eyes and had almost become blinded by the light which met him. He had growled against it, trying to shield himself from the offending glare and in doing so had fully realised that he now had arms, hands, feet, hair and a humanoid body. A body which he remembered as once being his own.

All save for the hole he reached for in his midsection, and the one last remnant of his mask which clung to his cheek in a mocking reminder that no, his body would never be the same again. He had met cold brown eyes, no longer framed by thick black glasses. He felt anger. All-encompassing anger.

_"Welcome, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez,"_ Aizen had spoken, his voice still as sickening, as coated with hidden malice as he had remembered it,  _"to your new home, and your brothers and sisters."_

And that was the moment when Grimmjow had realised that there would be no escape. He had been made a part of that which he hated most.

He had been left powerless, stripped of everything – stripped of his will to fight, to kill, to rip the man in front of him apart bit by painful pit even as he had been restrained and marked. Marked with a burning hatred that caused revulsion to course through his body, eating him away from the inside out.

He had been branded. Branded with the number six.

And from that moment on, he had been called a new name. Sexta.

Pulled out of his murderous thoughts, even as Grimmjow now eyed the figure of a pale man falling to the ground in a gasping heap, shards of glass from his prison shattering around the naked and shivering form, he unconsciously drew his hand behind his back to touch his fingers to the large gothic numeral imprinted on his skin.

It seemed to prickle and sting with the memory of the searing reiatsu used to taint his body with its foul presence. He grit his teeth tighter.

A retching choke drew his gaze once more to the scene ahead, his hand falling back down to his side as he did so.

The newblood tried frantically to take in much-needed gasps of air, his arms drawing around himself in some effort to keep himself warm and shield his body from others. Locks of an usual pink brushed his cheeks, his eyes framed by white rimmed glasses – the same white as the bone mask that each and every other spectator in the room held.

Even from here, Grimmjow could see deep golden eyes echoing with outrage and a defiant pride despite the weakness of the pale skinned male in his current position. He scoffed faintly, impressed. That attitude would keep him alive.

His body was lean and graceful limbed, his chest lightly toned and heaving as the male choked once more. His head drew up when the white garbed man inched closer, the newblood's golden eyes narrowing with distrust.

"What is your name?" Aizen's voice was low, his oily baritone echoing throughout the cavernous chamber.

The pale man retched again, coughing violently as he tried to form words to speak.

"S-Szayel…aporro… G-Granz." He managed out, his voice an unsteady hiss though it was laced with a slight melodic tone.

Aizen nodded, a smile forming on his lips. To anyone else, it would have appeared as a fatherly gesture, exuding a welcoming warmth. But Grimmjow knew that smile for what it really was. From where he was seated, he could see the mocking air of the man's cold brown eyes. His hands clenched tightly over his knees once more.

"Welcome to your new family, Szayelaporro." Aizen spoke quietly, lifting his hand. The pink haired male's eyes widened, his delicate features forming an expression of fear as the brown haired man brought his fingers down to touch against his neck.

He gasped, trying to pull away from the offending action, only to cry out when a searing jolt of potent reiatsu enveloped the entire room. The pink haired man fell down onto the floor, panting and gasping weakly, his body trembling even as Aizen removed his hand a long moment later and stepped back.

"Welcome to the Espada." He finished, his smile widening. Golden eyes lifted to meet cold brown, anger swirling in their amber depths. He lifted a shaking hand, clasping long fingers against the back of his neck.

"Fear not. Here there shall be no death, no torment, and no chance for failure amongst us all." Aizen continued, extending his hand towards the seven assembled warriors behind him. Grimmjow's eyes narrowed slightly when he observed the newcomer's golden irises widening, a barely audible gasp leaving his lips. Aizen smirked, seeming to understand something unspoken.

He turned, his white coat billowing behind his tall figure as he swept away. As he did so, his footsteps echoing clearly once more through the silence of the room, Grimmjow's breath hitched when cold brown eyes glanced lazily up to gaze intently into his own.

"None at all." Aizen murmured, his tone soft even as his smirk widened.

Grimmjow was barely able to restrain the infuriated growl that threatened to leave his throat, his hands now clenched so tightly over his knees the whites of his knuckles were visible against his skin.

_Damn right._ He hissed in his mind, eyeing with loathing the man now exiting the chamber, his footfalls fading down the marble corridor.

_I'll kill you._

He stood up, the remainder of the Espada alongside him doing likewise, preparing to leave now that the ceremony was over.

As he shoved his hands into the pockets of his white hakama, Grimmjow paused when he caught movement out of the corner of his eyes, the pink haired male on the ground slowly removing his hand from the back of his neck.

His cyan gaze caught sight of the gothic '8' imprinted on the man's neck bone.

_Octava, eh?_ He mused.

His attention was brought up to golden eyes now locking onto his, the man standing himself up on unsteady feet. His irises narrowed behind his white rimmed glasses.

"What do you want?" He hissed, his voice now having regained some strength and was spiked with a spiteful tone.

Grimmjow sneered, remaining silent as he carefully regarded the man before him. His physique was clearly not cut out for fighting, that much was made obvious. The only thing about him Grimmjow could be certain of was his persona. But even that would not be enough to get him through in the end.

"I'll give you a week before you end up dead in the sand." He stated, his tone short.  _Or until Aizen kills you himself._

He turned his back, ignoring the feel of the man glaring angrily at him as he retreated.

It was a harsh reminder of reality to say that, he knew, but regardless it still needed to be said. After all, if the newcomer didn't have any idea of what he had somehow gotten himself into, then he would end up like all the others before him. Following their beloved leader aimlessly and blind to his tyrannic hold.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt that the newblood would be intelligent enough to realise this.

Until then, Grimmjow didn't want anything to do with him.

The door closed behind him with an echoing clamour.

* * *

Ten of them.

An amused snort fell from the Sexta's lips, the blue haired male pacing down the empty marble corridors of Las Noches.

He had no care for where he was headed, and he gave no mind to his location. All he cared about was his solitude, and to find a secluded space to inevitably act out his frustration.

_Well, it can't get more secluded than this._ He added as an afterthought, his cyan eyes glancing warily around the cold stone hallway, his footsteps echoing loudly around him. Ignoring this, he continued on. That was neither here nor there. He had more pressing matters to attend to.

Ten of them. Aizen had finally done it. He had created his own 'perfect army', dragging pathetic unfortunate Hollows to the palace and giving them life again like some sick, twisted act of a god, leading each foolish subject by his kingly speeches seeped in nothing but lies and utter bullshit.

Gritting his teeth, Grimmjow's hands clenched by his sides.

_Espada._

The word passed his mind with seething malice.

At first there had been five of them, when he had arrived. He was the sixth. Followed by the remaining four soon after, almost in quick succession since the introduction of that pink haired eighth last week. Pausing in his steps, Grimmjow's eyes narrowed.

Aizen must be gearing up for something, preparing for some manifesting event which required him to hide behind ten of the strongest ever seen in the Hollow world.

War.

Snorting faintly in empty amusement, Grimmjow's lips curled into a humourless smile.

_Shinigami gettin' too worked up for their own good, are they?_

Word had reached them of the uproar in Soul Society. Something had happened, something sparked by Aizen's show of his betrayal to the Gotei 13 some few months ago. They had then remained silent for a lengthy period of time. Though it was only recently when whisperings, murmurings of an intent to attack had arisen in Seireitei, or so Ichimaru Gin's reports had deduced when the snake grinned man had returned from a reconnaissance visit.

Finding a doorway looming ahead on his left-hand side, Grimmjow entered, walking into a large room with glass walls overlooking the midnight sands of Hueco Mundo.

A barely audible grunt of annoyance passing his lips, Grimmjow found that he had sought reprieve within the confines of one of the Espada meeting rooms.

Snarling inwardly at the thick irony surrounding him this day, he closed the door regardless and strode towards the window, sighing heavily as he pressed his forehead against the cool glass. His cyan eyes peered unblinkingly at the lifelessness of the plains opening out before him, the very land as empty and as hollow as the hole carved through his abdomen.

He hated the shinigami with a passion, remembering fully well every struggle he fought against in that dreg of life of Rukongai all those years ago – he didn't know how many years ago, though it had felt like a century. But he loathed Aizen more, wanting nothing more than to see him bleed and lie broken and maimed beyond all recognition before his very feet.

With a scoff of amusement, Grimmjow found himself thinking that he might even willingly aid the shinigami if they were planning on sticking that brown haired bastard's head on a stake. And then he would tear through the rest of them straight after.

However, it was with a burning outrage that Grimmjow knew he would never be able to act out what he so desperately wanted. He refused to admit it to himself, even with his own internal thoughts, but he knew that Aizen had him by a leash and had purposely chosen him so as to keep him in line with the others.

After all, stripping away his humanity and then giving it back, freeing him from the hell he was thrown into and ultimately rewarding him with more strength and power than he had ever thought possible was  _exactly_ the kind of manipulative subtlety that the ex-shinigami possessed. An effective one at that, too.

After all, if Aizen died, Grimmjow didn't know if this newfound greater chance at life would diminish with that tyrant. If there was one thing that he feared, it was facing the never ending dark of that dreaded mask all over again, all conscious thought swallowed up by nothing but pure primal instinct.

With a growl he slammed his hand against the glass before him, panting slightly in his anger.

Aizen had fucked him over completely, and he knew it.

"It's been more than a week."

His eyes snapping open, Grimmjow whipped his head around to find himself staring at none other than that pink haired Octava. His eyes narrowed, the cyan depths regarding the pale man before him with a cold disregard, his anger flaring at the slight smile on petal coloured lips. A smile which was nothing short of smug.

"The fuck are you doing here?" He spat out quietly, less than pleased at this interruption of his thoughts, and even more so at the fact that in amongst the turbulence of his mind, he had failed to notice the other approach him.

Even now, golden eyes glinted under white rimmed glasses with amusement, the slender male reaching up a long fingered hand and carefully brushing a lock of stray hair past his cheek.

"The same thing you're doing, Jaegerjaquez. Is that not allowed? Or has Aizen-sama suddenly changed the rules of this place on a whim?" Szayelaporro answered, his tone soft, yet his smile grew into a smirk.

Grimmjow's eyes narrowed further, dislike clearly etched into his hard gaze.

"I've got no time for an ass-kisser like you, Granz. Go back to yer precious 'Aizen-sama' and shove it." He snapped.

His irate mood was not helped when the man merely chuckled in response.

"I was only asking a simple question." The pink haired male answered smoothly.

Grimmjow fell silent, his mind reeling with many other colourful insults all circling around just where that smirking bastard in front of him could take his sly attitude and stick it hard.

Moving away from the window, the Sexta drew himself up to his full height, his form levelling the Octava's. Pale lips continued to smile even as the tanned man drew closer, walking past and pausing shoulder to shoulder with the slighter male.

"Just remember that your Aizen-sama is the only one keeping you alive right now. Let's see how good yer faith in him is until he turns that around on you an' runs you through." He whispered, his voice a low growl.

At this, delicate features formed into a hard glare. Golden eyes sliding to lock onto cyan blue, Szayelaporro's expression became harsh.

"I would be careful of what you say around here, Sexta," he murmured, his melodic voice barely audible, "in case you haven't noticed, not everywhere in Las Noches is as empty as you make it out to be."

Grimmjow stilled, slowly meeting the warning expression set in golden irises. His brows creased slightly, a growl of annoyance threatening to pull forth from this throat when he was stopped by the Octava's seemingly innocent redirection of his gaze towards the wall facing him.

Catching on, confusion now flooded Grimmjow's mind as he too followed his glance slowly to where the pink haired man was looking. Carefully, he lifted his eyes to observe a small black circular hole in the wall, high enough to be easily ignored and unnoticeable.

The Sexta didn't need a second guess to know exactly what it was he was looking at.

"He's bugged the place?" He muttered quietly. He received a faint nod in response.

Cyan eyes narrowing, Grimmjow fixed his stare back onto the Octava.

"What are you doing?" He bit out, enraged at the thought that this smug dickhead in front of him was entertaining the thought of  _helping_ him.

_No… he's not helpin' me._ He realised, seeing pale lips pull apart into a wider smirk. Grimmjow's hands clenched tighter, the Sexta desperately restraining himself from reaching out and blasting a Cero in the pink haired man's face.

"Warning you, obviously." Szayelaporro answered, his tone derisive. A fine pink eyebrow arched at the Sexta. "It might do you good for the future the next time you intend on making your destructive intentions so clearly known to Aizen-sama."

Feeling anger coil in the pit of his stomach, Grimmjow didn't respond.

Instead, he continued to hold the other's gaze, searching golden eyes for any sign that what they had said in this room would indeed be notified to Aizen.

He didn't know whether to feel even more outraged or relieved when he saw the exact opposite, the Octava merely glancing back with careful consideration.

Not saying anything else and sending a last seething glare the Octava's way, he turned and walked off, his steps purposeful as he exited leaving the pink haired Espada alone in the shadows.

* * *

Watching the retreating form of the blue haired male, pale lips formed a satisfied smile, a low chuckle falling from them as Szayel remained standing where he was, half-hidden in the darkness.

_Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, huh?_

He chuckled again, running a hand through his locks. His golden eyes echoed a calculating air in their amber depths as he moved forwards, his steps slow as he exited, re-entering the corridor he had been walking down when he had first seen the irate Sexta take a turn into the old meeting room.

_He certainly is amusing._

Golden eyes narrowed as the Octava swept down the corridor, his footsteps echoing lightly around him. Irritating and loathsome as that man may be, he didn't know what it was about the blue haired barbarian which drove the scientist to observe him as closely as he had been this past week.

The man infuriated him, and Szayel had never forgotten the callous disregard he saw in cyan eyes that day he had first been marked as an Espada.

_"I'll give you a week before you end up dead in the sand."_

The man's words had rung through his brain and had caused his fists to clench.

_He severely underestimates me._

His lips set in a thin line, Szayel's expression was hard as he continued down the cavernous marble corridor.

He was no fool, and it only served to anger him further that he was being treated as such. He knew that there was a strict system of rules to follow here in Hueco Mundo to ensure one's survival. He knew that the only reason he had lasted this long so far was because he had given the ruler of Las Noches absolute respect.

But why the Sexta was clearly so distrusting of Aizen-sama was a matter which continued to nag relentlessly away at the Octava's brain.

As far as he was concerned, the shinigami traitor was a blessing.

After all, it was he whom he had first seen when he had opened his eyes after tearing free from the overwhelming agony of that accursed mask, it was he whom had spoken to him and had reassured him that life held more purpose. He had given him power, had saved him from the wretchedness of the eternal darkness he had been subjected to.

He had told him that there would be no chance for failure.

_Failure._

Szayel paused in his steps, an unreadable expression now forming on his delicate features.

He didn't know why that word had echoed so strongly in his mind, eating slowly away at his thoughts as if to remind him of some past trauma. All he knew was that the notion unsettled him.

His hands tightening slowly into fists, his golden eyes narrowed, an expression of determination echoing in amber depths as he strode forwards once more.

He had no room for failure. The very idea was absurd. Aizen-sama had allowed him to work on his talents, seeking new scientific means and undergoing analysis for the palace's defence systems and technological weaponry.

He was free to bask in the world that he had absolute control over. Nothing could go wrong.

Finding ease with these thoughts, the Octava lifted his head to find that the large white washed door looming before him was ajar. Taking a breath to settle himself, his expression smoothed over into a look of calm as he entered.

He found himself gazing at the large walls and dark tiled flooring of the royal chambers of Las Noches, the balcony far ahead opening out to allow a magnificent overlook of the sandy plains down below, the Hollow world's moon glowing down upon the balcony railings and highlighting the untouched corners of the shadows with a silver light.

A large chair was seated in the exact centre of this balcony, and from here Szayel could see a hand resting over a cup situated on the nearby table.

He swallowed thickly, lowering himself and kneeling before the man in front of him.

"Ah, Szayelaporro. You have returned." Aizen's voice was pleasant, warm and yet laced with its usual oily undertone.

Szayel avoided eye contact, hearing shuffling as the ruler of Las Noches rose from his seat and approached.

"Yes, Aizen-sama." He responded, his melodic voice steady despite himself.

He could hear footsteps stop directly in front of him. The air seemed to grow heavy.

"And what of your task? I understand that Grimmjow is hot-blooded in his actions, yet it would be most unfortunate for us all if we were to suffer from his apparent disregard for our rules."

Szayel froze momentarily, swallowing the dry lump in his throat. He knew what Aizen-sama's true meaning was behind his words.  _It would be unfortunate if he went against Aizen-sama directly._

Despite the enjoyment he would feel upon seeing the ill-tempered Sexta punished for his stupidity, he could not help but know that the brash male would most certainly attempt to do something so careless regardless.

Perhaps it was that knowledge that stayed his tongue.

"He is not seeking to overthrow you, Aizen-sama." Szayel replied, lifting his head slowly and stilling the trembling in his limbs as he saw cold brown eyes focus on him with amusement glinting in their depths. "I have watched him closely this past week as per your instructions, and I have not been able to determine anything that would prove otherwise."

Aizen regarded the Octava carefully, a brow raising. Szayel tried to ignore the urge to shift uncomfortably under that scrutinising stare.

"Is that so?" Aizen murmured quietly a moment later. Szayel nodded.

"I would not mislead you." He tried to push down the feel of bile rising in his stomach at his blatant lie, somehow managing to keep his features expressionless.

Aizen held him in his calculating stare for a few moments longer, Szayel almost letting loose a sigh of relief when the shinigami traitor nodded, his lips pulling into a smile.

"That is good news." He spoke, his tone louder now as he turned around, moving once more back to his chair. "I had my doubts of him and Nnoitra Gilga, but I trust your judgement on this matter, Szayelaporro Granz. After all, you and Ulquiorra are the two I am able to place a large portion of my faith in."

Szayel's hand tightened into a fist from where he had been resting it against the cold tiled floor.

"I thank you, Aizen-sama." He whispered quietly.

Aizen nodded, his smile forming a smirk as he settled himself back down in his chair. He swept his gaze over the form of his subordinate.

"You may leave." He dismissed.

Nodding, Szayel slowly rose, straightening himself and bowing low towards the brown haired man.

He turned, hastily exiting the chamber and only allowing himself a moment to exhale sharply when he was far enough away from the proximity of the double doors.

Wishing his pounding heart to cease its merciless thrashing against his chest, Szayel steadied himself against the nearest wall, bringing up a gloved hand and pressing it to his forehead.

A few moments of silence went by, broken only by the slow evening of his breath as he gasped faintly for air.

Opening his eyes, he stared at the floor through the slits of his fingers, his glasses reflecting the glint of golden orbs as he moved to tuck a loose strand of pink hair behind his ear.

_Jaegerjaquez, you have a lot to thank me for._


	4. Breaking Our Walls

Eyes cast downwards, his arms crossed over his chest and his legs lazily drawn up over the tabletop, Grimmjow's gaze was unfocused.

He paid no mind to the ramblings of the brown haired traitor even now seated at the far end of the elongated desk, eleven chairs drawn around its surface and each housing the ten members of this so-called 'family'.

The atmosphere was stiff, silent and heavy with trepidation. Aizen's words passed over each Espada gathered, his deep voice filling ears and seeming to coat them with its oily warmth.

It had been exactly one month to the day that all ten of the strongest warriors had been assembled. Today marked their first meeting.

Aizen had announced an oncoming war, a war which would unavoidably be fought on the frontlines of Hueco Mundo. The shinigami had indeed been growing restless.

Biting back a satisfied smirk, Grimmjow shifted slightly in his seat, tightening his arms across his chest.

_It's about time. Who knows? They might do us all a favour an' kill him off first._

Barely restraining a snicker of a laugh, the blue eyed male languidly redirected his gaze to each assembled member present. The Primera, Coyote Starrk, had rested his head over his arms atop the table, his pale blue eyes closed. He had no cares for the matters concerning Espada or shinigami – he preferred to keep to himself, and would only take action when need arose for him to do so.

The Segunda and Tercera, Baraggan Louisenbairn and Tier Harribel respectively, had their gazes trained intently upon the shinigami traitor. Grimmjow knew that Harribel would follow her leader with the utmost surety and faith; something which tore his insides apart with repulsion. Baraggan however could perhaps remain clear of mind; he did after all hold a bitter grudge against the ex-shinigami for shaking his royal throne. The Segunda had once been the King of Hueco Mundo, now he was but a mere husk of his former glory at the hands of Aizen's cunning.

The Décima and Quinto Espadas, Yammy Llargo and Nnoitra Gilga appeared to be as interested in the whole affair as Grimmjow was, Nnoitra especially. If there was one amongst them all whom the Sexta could appreciate for his blatant disregard for Aizen's ruling, it would be Nnoitra, as much as he was loathe to admit it.

The Cuarto and Séptima, Ulquiorra Cifer and Zommari Rereaux had averted their gaze, but their eyes were unblinking, the two soaking up Aizen's words with a reverence. Grimmjow tried to bite back a snarl. He knew the Cuarto and Séptima were some of Aizen's most loyal supporters amongst the gathering – and Ulquiorra was by far the most insufferable.

It had occurred to Grimmjow on more than one occasion that Aizen had merely created Ulquiorra for his own personal desires, seeing as the Cuarto was nothing but an empty vessel whose only purpose was to serve and please his lord. With an almost sick sense of humour, Grimmjow sniggered at the thought of just what it was that the Cuarto's precious Aizen-sama  _really_ filled him up with night after night.

His gaze passed over the form of the Noveno, Aaroniero Arruruerie, yet he dared not linger his sight upon the alien-looking male for far longer than was necessary. Aaroniero was loyal to Aizen, but he exuded an uneasy air which had even the staunchest of the ten seek to be on their guard in his presence.

And then…

Grimmjow slid his eyes carefully towards the pink haired figure of the Espada seated two places next to him.

There was the  _Octava_.

In the long month of hell on earth that Grimmjow had suffered in this nightmarish world, out of those present whom he had been forced to accept as his comrades, his  _friends_ , Szayelaporro Granz was a completely different matter entirely.

Grimmjow hated him. Even now, as he studied pale delicate features set into a look of bored disinterest, golden eyes glancing at the opposite wall with a distant expression behind white rimmed glasses, the Sexta felt anger roiling deep in his gut for not the first time.

He hated him. But what enraged Grimmjow the most, was that he didn't know  _why_ he did.

He imagined it was because of that arrogant attitude, the haughty way with which the younger man composed himself. He supposed it was because of the calculating air of the scientist – the way the Octava glanced at him on occasion as if to study his every move or motive. He guessed it was because of the outrage he had felt that day when the Octava had revealed to him that Aizen had surveillance installed in the walls of Las Noches.

He didn't need his pity. Or his help.

But it was more than that.

His eyes narrowing slightly, Grimmjow found that what infuriated him the most was how unreadable the man was. He knew how important it was to gauge one's enemy, to always be on your guard and to expect any form of attack at any form of time. He excelled in that.

Yet with Granz, he found that he was unable to do so, appearing as nothing but some inexperienced man who claimed himself a warrior without ever having understood the notion. It tore at his mind mercilessly, fuelling him with irritation.

The man was a mystery of his own.

Grimmjow wanted to catch some semblance of this man's true demeanour, to tear away the cold indifference to get at the real persona inside. The sooner he understood the Octava's motives, the sooner he could finally ease his mind into rest.

As if to answer the inner turmoil rushing through the Sexta's head, golden eyes turned and Grimmjow found his cyan gaze meeting amber irises. The Octava's brows creased faintly into a look of careful regard, his expression clearly communicating that he had been aware of the other's gaze on him for the past few minutes.

Grimmjow's eyes narrowed, strongly disliking the unreadable emotions echoing in golden depths.

Szayelaporro continued to hold his gaze for a moment longer before the pink haired male finally drew his attention back towards the front of the table.

Aizen had stood up, the shinigami traitor setting his cup back down upon the smooth surface of the table. His cold brown eyes settled on those assembled.

Grimmjow gazed anywhere but at the smirking bastard tormenting those in his sight.

"One last word, my loyal Espada." Aizen spoke loudly, his voice smooth and laced with feigned kindness. Grimmjow barely restrained a snorted laugh.

_Loyal?_ He thought with a derisive scoff.

"Word has reached my ears of a certain… advantage… which may help us with the upcoming visit from the Gotei Thirteen." The brown haired male continued.

At this, heads lifted and forms straightened, Aizen having effectively commanded the undivided attention of his warriors with the implication behind his words. Despite himself, Grimmjow found that he too was now intrigued by what this could possibly mean.

He altered his posture ever so slightly, shifting his gaze over to the man speaking.

"What is it?" Baraggan called out, his ancient voice withered and husked with age.

Aizen glanced over to the Segunda. A smile formed on his lips.

"It is too early to assume as of yet, Baraggan. However I ask that you all prepare yourselves for our next meeting, which will no doubt occur as soon as I have obtained all that I need. Until then, you are dismissed." He answered.

With that, he turned his back and exited, his coat billowing behind him as he did so. The figures of Ichimaru Gin and Tousen Kaname moved forth away from the walls where they had been standing, the two falling into step beside the traitor and following the ex-Division captain out of the assembly hall.

There was a stunned silence which settled over the remaining ten, those gathered finding it difficult within themselves to speak.

Slowly, one by one as if brought out of some trance, they rose from their chairs. Murmurings and whispers of Aizen's parting words immediately sprang forth in conversation, the Espada already hastening from the meeting room.

From where he was still seated, Grimmjow's brows continued to furrow in suspicion. He was so engrossed in his thoughts about the situation that at first he did not notice someone walking up to him.

But the moment he saw the outline of the white jacket and the lean form from the corner of his eyes, he sneered.

"Thought I told ya to fuck off, Granz." He growled warningly, cyan eyes glaring harshly at the golden eyed male silently observing him.

He was surprised when Granz didn't respond in the way he had anticipated – instead, the Octava merely sighed, turning around and making to walk forwards.

"Come with me." He murmured, his voice quiet.

Grimmjow blinked, all sense of irritation fading in that one moment to be replaced with sheer confusion.

Noticing that the Sexta still had not made any move to stand from his seat, Szayelaporro paused, turning his head to fix the blue haired male with a pointed expression. He continued to wait, seemingly patiently, yet irritation could be seen brimming in his stare.

Seeing that the Octava would not shove off on his own free will, Grimmjow's cyan eyes narrowed further, his lips pulling apart into a seething scowl.

Slowly rising, he stuck his hands into the pockets of his white hakama, Grimmjow eyeing the Octava warily as the pink haired male redirected his gaze forwards.

He remained silent as he resumed his pace, leading Grimmjow out of the meeting hall.

* * *

The walk was relatively silent, footsteps continuing to echo with a dead sound through the emptiness of that vast marble corridor.

Grimmjow had lost count of how long he had been following the other, the Sexta imparting irate glares the Octava's way from where the slender male was continuing to walk ahead, his movements graceful and filled with purpose.

They had caught the eyes of some of the Espada when they had left the meeting hall, incredulous glances being swapped between those present at the sight. Certainly no one had seen the Sexta and Octava walking together in the same vicinity and not arguing with one another before. It was well known that there was a distinct animosity between the two.

However, their gazes were simply ignored, the two males' minds focused on entirely different matters to take into account this seemingly odd display of camaraderie between them both.

The silence continued to persevere until it was broken when Szayelaporro had stopped short outside of a large doorway, the wood cream coloured and unassuming in amongst the backdrop of the deserted hallway.

Opening the double doors, the Octava imparted a brief glance at the blue haired male behind him, indicating that the tanned man should enter.

His eyes continuing to echo a deep distrust and wariness, Grimmjow followed, the doors sliding quietly shut behind them.

He hadn't known where he was being led, but as his eyes swept over the neatly placed tables aligned with various instruments and beakers all tidied away for further use later, and the cavernous hall which opened out to all arrays of technology both medical and digital, he was most certainly not expecting it to be the scientist's infamous laboratory that the man held within the palace.

Stopping short in his steps and crossing his arms over his chest, Grimmjow's gaze was livid as he stared at the pink haired Espada, the man quickly uttering a low command to one of his peculiar Fracción who had bounded towards its master.

Bowing and racing away, the odd ball-shaped creature left them, scattering towards a side door and closing it as it departed.

The air suddenly seemed to become heavy as the room echoed with the sound of a lock falling into place.

They were completely alone.

"What the hell are you playing at?"

Grimmjow's harsh demand cut through the air like a knife.

Turning slowly and facing the Sexta, a barely audible sigh passed the Octava's lips, Szayel lifting a hand and pressing it to his forehead. He swept away a lock of hair which brushed over his eyes, the man gazing calculatingly at the blue haired male behind his glasses.

His expression was weary.

Grimmjow would have risen his brows in disbelief at this point if it were not for his mood. He had never seen the scientist look so resigned before.

"What am I playing at? Nothing that you're thinking of, Jaegerjaquez. I only wished to talk to you." The Octava replied, his melodic voice a low murmur.

A scoffed snort of amusement fell from Grimmjow's lips.

"Yeah, right," he sneered, "an' I s'pose you led me here to yer own private dungeon where Aizen's no doubt got his little rats in every corner. An' I'm lookin' at one of 'em right now." He finished, his eyes boring hatefully into golden irises.

Again to his surprise, he was met with a reaction that he was not expecting.

Szayel laughed, the sound strained as a slight chuckle left his lips. Sighing once more, the slender male crossed his own arms over his chest, his eyes gazing steadily into cyan blue.

"I assure you, we're safe in here. The only surveillance I keep is my own." He replied, his lips quirking into a faint smile.

Grimmjow blinked, barely holding back another sneer.

"Like I'm s'posed to believe that." He hissed.

Szayel rolled his eyes, the man resting his back against the nearby wall, continuing to gaze intently at the Sexta.

"Believe what you will then. You're so troublesome when it comes to accepting the truth no matter how plainly it sits in front of your face, Jaegerjaquez. But no matter. That's not what I wanted to speak to you about." He sighed.

Grimmjow shifted a little on his feet, his expression clearly demanding that the other man get on with it.

The Octava ignored this, a contemplative gaze forming in his eyes instead.

"I want to know why, Sexta. Why does Aizen-sama distrust you? Or, more to the point, why do you loathe him so?" He asked, his voice a quiet whisper.

Grimmjow couldn't help the bark of laughter that left his lips.

" _Why_?" He spat out, his shoulders trembling with his sniggers, "I woulda thought that was damn obvious."

Szayel's eyes narrowed.

"Not to me." He murmured, his tone low. "Aizen-sama requested I watch you this past month, something you no doubt were aware of. After all, I didn't focus a great deal of my time and energy on skulking in the shadows."

Grimmjow stopped laughing.

"An' I bet you reported everythin' back to him like the good little bitch you are." He snarled, his expression once more irate.

The Octava gazed unblinkingly into Grimmjow's eyes, his expression almost pleading.

"I said nothing to him." He answered quietly.

Grimmjow froze, his brows raising in disbelief.

"You… what?" He echoed.

The pink haired male nodded.

Grimmjow blinked, trying to determine whether this was some sort of trick. He didn't believe what he had heard, not for a second. But that look of utmost sincerity in amber irises gave him second thoughts.

"Why?" He asked, his voice hoarse.

Szayel gave a heavy sigh, running a hand through his locks as he did so. He gazed at the opposite wall for a few moments, chewing his bottom lip slightly in thought. It was some time until he redirected his glance back to the blue haired male watching him intently.

"To be honest, I don't know." He responded.

Grimmjow found that he couldn't stop the slight grin forming on his lips.

"That's not like you." He mused, a brow raising in amusement.

A slight scoff left the Octava's mouth, pale lips forming their own slight smile.

"I think you'll find there's a lot of things I do which aren't 'like me', especially this past month." He countered, his own brow raising.

Grimmjow's grin grew wider despite himself.

"You're tellin' me." He snorted. "Spyin' on people outside of your lab? Aizen really does have you on a leash, doesn't he? Just like he does with the rest of us." He finished, his tone now bitter.

A strained expression fell upon golden eyes, but was smoothed over as quickly as it had arrived. Grimmjow noticed it though, and he crossed his arms further over his chest, regarding the pink haired Espada carefully.

"Why didn't you tell him?" He asked again.

There was silence for a few minutes.

"Pity? Confusion? Because I wanted to find out for myself why you're so willing to go against him. I don't understand you, Jaegerjaquez. It astounds me how you can act so freely against him and not care for what consequences you surely know are going to befall you. There has to be a reason for this hatred, and you're like an open book which shuts itself on someone the moment they attempt to read past your brash demeanour. I… want to know why Aizen-sama sent me to observe you. I want to know why I made the choice I did, covering for you." Szayel answered slowly, as if carefully choosing his words.

Grimmjow continued to eye the man carefully.

"You want to know more about  _me_." He stated, his tone barely audible. The look in golden eyes at this comment relayed that the Sexta had guessed correctly.

It was his turn to sigh, Grimmjow running his fingers through tousled blue locks as he gave a humourless chuckle.

"Who woulda thought it?" He murmured, more to himself than to the male opposite him.

He didn't say anything for a long while. The Octava continued to watch the blue haired man closely, chewing his bottom lip once more.

These thoughts had been driving away relentlessly at his brain for the past month. He had too many questions, questions which needed answering. He hoped that he would finally start to unravel the mystery that was the Sexta Espada. Only then would he allow his mind rest.

"You ever remember what it was like to be human?"

Szayel blinked, his eyes narrowing slightly in confusion behind his glasses at the Sexta's muttered words.

"What?" He asked.

Grimmjow lifted his head, a tired look now forming on his normally irate features.

"My life wasn't any different to what it was in Soul Society. All that fighting and trying to survive. Tryin' ter make yer way to the top. Earned quite a name for myself, too. You asked why I hate Aizen so much? It's 'cos he took away everythin' I had. One night, he found me. He did somethin'… I don't know what it was, but that was probably the first time in my life I'd ever been scared." He paused, allowing a faint laugh to leave his lips.

He was silent once more for a moment. Then he locked his gaze back with the Octava's.

"He turned me into a Hollow. I vowed from that moment on that I wouldn't rest until he died by my hand. I remember it all – sinkin' down into that darkness, losing my sanity and turning into  _that_. He stood there, smilin' away at me even as I lost my life a second time. An' when I woke up, it was only to see him again. Welcomin' me into some so-called 'family' I never wanted to be a part of. Because it meant that I'd have to bow down to him and worship him like some kinda god. He has me locked and caged, and I won't stop until I break free and tear him apart fer what he did to me."

Throughout all this, the Octava remained silent, even when Grimmjow had finished. The blue haired male supposed he was thankful that the other had the decency to not interrupt him, yet he felt disquiet at the expression which had formed on the pale man's face.

His cheeks framed by his locks of pink hair, Szayel's head bowed slightly, his eyes unfocused on the man in front of him. He seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. Or, as Grimmjow realised when he looked at him closely, he appeared to be struggling to remember something.

"I… see." Was the man's eventual response, his soft voice now oddly strained.

Grimmjow's arms fell down to his sides.

"You don't remember, do you? Becoming a Hollow." He asked quietly.

The golden eyed male lifted his head slowly, his expression troubled.

"… No." He whispered.

He didn't know if it was because of the anguish he could see in normally calm, collected eyes, or if it was because of the implications this held for the man himself, but Grimmjow found that despite all their differences, he could bring himself to feel sorry for the pink haired male.

"I don't remember anything." Szayel continued, his tone still deathly quiet. He looked conflicted, all semblance of his calculating persona now fading to give way to raw emotion. "Nothing except my name and waking up here. Who was I before? Did I even have a human existence? I don't know. I thought that Aizen-sama would tell me."

Grimmjow sighed.

"He's not gonna do that." He muttered.

A humourless chuckle left Szayel's lips.

"Perhaps not. But you must understand, Grimmjow. I can't share this same hatred towards the man as you do, not when he gave me a reason to live like this. Maybe he  _is_ a murderer, maybe he  _is_ only using us – I will admit my suspicion arose when I discovered he had placed surveillance throughout the palace – yet until I see proof of these so-called actions you speak of, I fear that I won't be so easily swayed."

Grimmjow nodded, his cyan eyes closing as he exhaled slowly.

"Then you're just gonna have to keep an eye on 'im. You'll see. It won't be too long until he slips up." He answered, his tone resolute.

A slight smile formed on pale lips.

"Probably not." Szayel sighed, pushing away from the wall and striding over towards the nearby computer screen. He leant over the desktop, his hands gripping the table firmly.

Sensing that the conversation was somehow drawing to a close, Grimmjow stepped back, making to turn around and exit. As he did so, he paused, turning back to face the pink haired man once more.

"You know Szayel, I take back some of the things I said about you. I mean yer still a dick, but you can actually use that brain of yers for something other than the usual shit you spout out. I'm impressed." Grimmjow spoke up, his tone louder. His eyes glinted with mirth.

Szayel lifted his head and turned to gaze at the Sexta, a snort of amusement passing his lips.

"Get out of my lab, Jaegerjaquez." He retorted, grinning.

A bark of laughter left Grimmjow's throat, the blue haired man shaking his head and chuckling. His features soon smoothing over, he nodded and turned back around, stuffing his hands once more into his pockets and his footsteps echoing through the cavernous space as he retreated.

"See ya round." He mentioned quietly, the laboratory doors closing moments later when he had departed.

Szayel was left watching the now-empty space for a moment longer, his mind swimming with what he had learnt.

A smile forming on his lips, he chuckled softly, redirecting his attention back to the computer monitor.

"Thank you." He whispered, a look of satisfaction settling in golden irises.

It had appeared that somehow over the course of that heated conversation, two enemies had unintentionally become the unlikeliest of friends.


	5. Ghosts of the Past

Repressing the feel of rising nerves in his stomach, Szayel swallowed the dry lump in his throat as he turned the corridor, the doors leading into Aizen's study closing behind him.

Those past fifteen minutes had never felt so long, the Octava's mind a turmoil of conflicting thoughts whilst he had delivered his latest report to the ruler of Hueco Mundo.

He was sure it was the result of his conversation with the blue haired Sexta in his laboratory those few days ago; ever since then, he had been struggling to contain the nagging doubts surfacing in his mind about the ex-shinigami's true intentions in the Hollow world.

He found that he had been barely able to lift his head to acknowledge the brown haired traitor in front of him during their brief conversation, the Octava's palms feeling clammy with sweat through his gloves and his breathing uneven.

Closing his eyes and taking in a deep, steady breath of air, the pink haired male willed himself to relax.

Somewhere in his mind, he knew that Grimmjow's words held truth to them – he could see it in the other's cyan eyes when he had spoken to him, the man's expression sincere and echoing with a long suffering pain – yet he was frustrated with himself for his unwillingness to believe his fellow Espada.

His thoughts were locked in an uneasy state of limbo, his normally calm, collected demeanour suffering as a result. For one so in control of his life, to have his sense of self-security shattered and crumbling around him truly scared him in the most profound of ways.

Sighing heavily, Szayel brushed back the locks of hair which swept over his eyes. The corridor rose out before him, each step of his seeming to last a lifetime. It was some while later until he lifted his head, the familiarity of the changing marble hallway rising up to meet him.

The door to his laboratory awaited close ahead, and lost in his own relentless thoughts he entered.

He took no notice of his Fracción, murmuring quietly to Lumina to leave him in peace when the odd looking creature bounded forwards, its cries of "Szayelaporro-sama! Szayelaporro-sama!" piercing the Octava's ears.

The Fracción eliciting a noise of despondency, the ball-like creature made to exit, leaving its master alone in the resounding silence of his cavernous workspace.

The tables had been cleared of all equipment, the computer monitors still left running regardless. Even as he approached the main screen, Szayel's brows creased into a look of heavy contemplation, his eyes seeing yet unseeing the green letters forming before them from the system's generator.

He didn't know what it was he was looking for when he accessed the database, his fingers moving with well-practiced speed and efficiency over the keys, but doubts of Aizen's conduct spurred from his conversation with Grimmjow continued to resurface in his mind.

If there was one reason that Szayel had to doubt the leader that he respected with all manner of reverence, it was as to why he had surveillance stationed around the halls of Las Noches.

This suspicion had been steadily growing through their meeting fifteen minutes ago, Szayel having been painfully aware that there was something different behind the man's tone when he had been speaking to him. It was almost as if the shinigami traitor… knew… something. Or at least suspected. His questions directed towards the Octava had been startlingly precise, especially concerning the blue haired Sexta.

Chewing his lip slightly in thought, golden eyes refocused and flittered their gaze quickly from screen to screen as the Octava hastily continued his search. The minutes went by, the silence broken only by the methodical tapping of the keyboard.

His anxiety increasing, fine brows pulled forth into a desperate crease as the results shown to him of the palace's surveillance monitors continued to come up fruitless. There was no sign of Aizen having tampered with the programming – none at all.

_So how is he watching us then?_

"No…" He whispered to himself, his eyes narrowing further as he accessed the live streams of the last recording sessions to be in operation throughout the hallways. " _Where_ is he watching us?"

Everything was in order. Nothing had been touched. It was infuriating – Szayel knew electronic bugging software when he saw it, having designed a lot of them himself, and he also knew when the software was being tampered with. So why was it that the results being shown to him now were saying the exact opposite?

_Unless…_

Sucking in a breath at the tenacity of his next actions, Szayel paused in his typing. He stood motionless, as if his decision was sure to be observed by eyes other than his own. In fact, if his calculations were correct, he knew that they most certainly would be.

He carefully scrolled up on the computer screen, highlighting the camera system which was connected to his laboratory. Entering the keypad combination upon prompting, images of each surveillance monitor throughout his wing of Las Noches came into view.

Now moving to insert a series of complex commands to the computer's mainframe, he bypassed his own security lock on his recording system, effectively shutting them down.

Waiting a few minutes until he received the electronic confirmation, he then worked on rebooting the monitors with running feedback from the last system to utilise his own security code. The results came back.

What he saw made his breath hitch, his eyes widening behind his glasses. He swallowed thickly, his hands gripping the tabletop to steady himself as his stomach felt like it dropped away from inside of him.

Remaining silent, his mind seeming to go blank, he reached out trembling fingers and cancelled the transmission, returning control of his surveillance systems back to his own private code and overrunning the mainframe to allow the change to go unnoticed.

Seeing that the computers now recognised his recording software as being the original system in charge, he exited the screen and switched off the monitors.

There was silence once more.

Taking another shaking breath, Szayel bowed his head, his hand resting against his forehead as he closed his eyes.

His breathing became erratic, and it took all of the waning self-control that he had left to calm himself down. He could not afford to lose his carefully maintained composure, especially not now.

He finally had the proof that he had been seeking, yet the answers he had been met with had shaken him to the very core.

Biting back the feeling of disbelief and repulsion coursing through his stomach, golden eyes opened, narrowed into nothing more than dangerous slits.

_If you think you can get away with that, you are sadly mistaken_ , he hissed in his mind, gazing harshly at the monitors.

Movement sounded from behind him. He didn't look up – he already knew who was approaching.

"What's wrong?"

Sighing quietly as that rough edged voice broke the tension somewhat, Szayel pushed away from the desktop and slowly focused his gaze upon the Sexta, Grimmjow having entered the laboratory upon receiving a request from the Octava to do so earlier on.

Seeing golden eyes narrowed and the man's gaze for the most part expressionless yet barely restraining an air of anger, Grimmjow folded his arms over his chest, a heavy sigh of his own falling from his lips.

He could tell just by looking at the pink haired male that something had been discovered. Something which had shaken the younger man deeply.

"What have you found?" Grimmjow rephrased, his voice quiet. He continued to lock eyes with the Octava, understanding the look he found in them.

Szayel's expression became stony.

"He's been hacking into my surveillance system to record us." His normally smooth voice was flat and devoid of emotion, the very sound as harsh as the gaze he now bore in his amber irises. His jaw clenched. "He knows what we said the other day. Everything. His questions were too direct towards me when I was called to see him. I erased the data stored in the computer, but the damage has already been done."

Grimmjow's eyes narrowed. He was silent for a long while.

"Didn't I tell ya somethin' like this would happen?" He asked quietly at length.

A bitter smile formed on the Octava's mouth.

"You did. And I didn't believe you then, not truly anyway. But this… this is something I cannot forgive. Who knows how long he's been watching?" He murmured, a humourless laugh falling from his lips.

The knowledge that Aizen had effectively been spying on them tore away at his insides. He felt outraged, he felt angered, and most of all… he felt betrayed.

"Well I hope he found it amusin' at any rate." Grimmjow spoke up, a weary sigh escaping him. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. His gaze became thoughtful. "Makes ya wonder what he's gonna do to us." He mused.

A derisive scoff left Szayel's throat, the man's eyes still dangerously narrowed behind his glasses.

"He won't do anything. Aizen-sama would have done away with me if he was truly angered when he called me to see him. No… he's enjoying this. If he's content to sit back and observe, what's to say that he won't continue to do so?"

At this, Grimmjow's brows rose slightly in faint disbelief. He regarded the pink haired male carefully, watching the Octava chew his bottom lip in agitation.

"You know, you've come a long way from before." The Sexta murmured, his tone amused. Szayel lifted his head, his delicate features now frowning into a look of contempt, yet his lips pulled into a slight grin regardless.

"I don't appreciate it when people assume they can get away with disrupting my work, Grimmjow." Szayel countered, a pink eyebrow arching.

Grimmjow scoffed.

"Yeah, yeah. You an' yer work. Keep the creepy shit to yerself, I don't wanna know about it." He grinned.

Szayel's lips pulled into a slighter smile. He chuckled, the Octava eliciting a sigh as he fixed his gaze onto the floor, his eyes taking on a faraway expression. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet.

"If you mean that  _we've_  come a long way from before, then… you're right. The last thing I ever expected was to find myself working with someone the likes of a barbarian such as you." He whispered.

At this, Grimmjow's smile faded, his eyes softening slightly. He ran a hand through his unruly blue locks.

"Barbarian… yeah, you have no idea. Wasn't somethin' I was proud of, believe me." He muttered. He paused, looking back at the pink haired Espada he had unwittingly likened to his closest friend over the course of the past two weeks. He grinned once more.

"Can say the same fer you though, Szayel. God ya really are an insufferable nerd sometimes." He breezed cheerfully.

Szayel's brow twitched.

"Insulting as always, Sexta." He replied coolly.

Grimmjow barked a laugh, his eyes glinting with amusement. A companionable silence fell upon the two, though their minds were still tormented by the knowledge that Aizen had learnt about their suspicions.

Neither Espada wished to dwell on thoughts of what the shinigami traitor would do next. Though they both knew that whatever it was, it would certainly provide them with all the knowledge that they needed against him.

* * *

"What's the meaning of this?"

"Who knows? Some shit's goin' down, an' he wants it tah be sorted out. Who cares as long as it gets done?"

"You would do well to remember your place, Nnoitra. Do not speak of Aizen-sama's wishes in such a frivolous manner."

"Che. Whatever. I was just sayin', ya dumb bitch."

The sound of footsteps came to a halt, the Noveno, Quinto and Tercera finding their place in their respective lines along either side of the expansive hallway. Harribel fixed Nnoitra with a steady gaze, her aqua eyes silently reprimanding the impulsive Quinto with a harsh stare.

Nnoitra shot the blonde woman a dirty look, his one visible violet eye narrowing.

Through this exchange, the remaining seven warriors assembled in the grand foyer of Las Noches remained silent, each absorbed by their own thoughts, yet each finding it hard within themselves to disagree with the muttered conversation which had just taken place.

From where they were standing in wait, both Szayel and Grimmjow were lost in their own opinions of the matter. The Octava's brows were furrowed slightly, his golden eyes gazing unblinkingly at the opposite wall. The Sexta had his hands in his hakama pockets, his expression stony as he stared unseeingly at the floor before him.

Aizen had called the Espada forth for a brief meeting. The ten gathered had thought it strange, seeing as no mention of this so-called 'advantage' for the upcoming war had been discussed with them beforehand.

It was obvious that Aizen wished to speak to them of something else, yet no one had any semblance as to what it could be. And deep down, no one wanted to express their concerns behind this. They were wary of what their lord was seeking to ask of them.

Grimmjow slowly lifted his head, casting a brief sidewards glance towards the pink haired male standing two places away to his left-hand side. Golden eyes blinked, seeming to feel the pull of the other man's gaze, and Szayel slid his eyes to glance back at Grimmjow in return.

In that wordless exchange, both men reached the same conclusion. They had to remain carefully on their guard – Aizen had no doubt decided to act in his own subtle way on what he had witnessed from the Octava's surveillance monitors.

He had been biding his time for four days. Now whatever trap he had set was in motion.

This knowledge made their jaws clench, the two Espada returning their gaze towards the towering marble throne raised high above the glossy flooring. A tall figure dressed in white approached slowly from behind the staircase, his brown eyes cold and calculating.

His figure sweeping purposefully forwards, Aizen's smile was warm and welcoming as his eyes raked over the figures of his ten personal warriors. His smile turned knowing when his glance met the Sexta and Octava's.

Szayel and Grimmjow straightened, their expressions set and devoid of emotion, though their stomachs flipped and their hands twitched behind their backs.

"My Espada," Aizen began, returning his gaze slowly to the general assemblage, his deep voice cutting through the air and lacing it with an oily sweetness, "I see that some of you are unsettled as to why I have gathered you here today. I assure you, it is not for any matter of greater importance than that which has already been mentioned. Rather, I wish to bring to your attention that our security here in Las Noches may be compromised."

He paused, carefully eyeing the reactions of those present.

Scattered gasps and mutters rang out through the silence. Some members shifted on their feet, glancing quickly from one to another.

For a set two however, they simply remained silent, their hands tightening into fists. Szayel's expression was blank, yet his golden eyes flared with cool outrage as he looked at the shinigami traitor.

Grimmjow's teeth clenched, the Sexta biting back the urge to lash out at the brown haired man as he moved closer, Aizen approaching forth with an imposing fluidity and drawing the eyes of those assembled as they watched him.

"Compromised? What do you mean, Aizen-sama?" Zommari spoke up, his face displaying shock and abhorrent disbelief.

Aizen's eyes shifted towards the Séptima, a warm smile forming on his thin lips.

"Nothing that cannot be handled, Zommari." He replied. "Though I will see to it that those responsible will… become aware of the wrongness of their actions and can perhaps serve some better use for me in the future."

As he said this he turned away, but not before glancing towards the two Espada standing along either side of the Séptima.

The look was subtle, but Szayel and Grimmjow saw the underlying threat in cold brown eyes regardless. With churning stomachs, they held the man's gaze, seeing no point in denying what the man already knew.

Seeming satisfied with this, Aizen's lips curled into a wider smirk as he looked back to the assemblage.

"There have also been reports of rogue Hollow activity near the Forest of Menos. I would ask some of you to investigate it. Szayelaporro, Grimmjow," Aizen's voice became louder, his tone sharp, "I trust you two with this mission. Any data you can relay on these threats would also prove adequate."

There was a brief silence as eyes turned to focus on the named Espada.

Szayel's face was expressionless, his eyes closed behind his glasses. He bowed his head slightly, locks of pink hair brushing his cheeks as he nodded.

"Yes Aizen-sama." He said quietly.

Grimmjow didn't answer, instead choosing to eye the shinigami traitor with cyan irises narrowed in intense dislike.

Biting back another growl, he bowed his head in a curt nod when Aizen's eyes narrowed in return.

Smirking, Aizen turned his back, motioning outwards with his hand.

"You may leave immediately." He announced, his oily voice echoing effortlessly around the cavernous main hall.

Sharing a brief look, the Sexta and Octava strode forwards, the two departing with hard looks of anger etched onto their features.

"If he thinks he's gonna get away with that, he's fucking mistaken." Grimmjow growled out under his breath when the pair had passed into the hallway.

Szayel's eyes narrowed, a murmur of agreement passing his lips.

"I was thinking the exact same thing." He answered coldly.

They shared another glance, the two Espada continuing on their way.

* * *

Sand crunched audibly under foot, gusts of wind whipping violently at tan coloured cloaks as hands moved to draw them tighter around their shivering forms.

The air was an icy chill, the crescent moon high above nothing but a ghostly presence in the dead black of night of the sands of Hueco Mundo. The plains before them rose out to immeasurable horizons, the emptiness and despair of the Hollow world a thick and heavy oppressiveness in the stagnant atmosphere.

They shivered again, both Szayel and Grimmjow hastening their speed to their destination, their steps moving swiftly across the sandy ground. The bone chilling cold of the air seeped through to their skin, seeming to make their very blood run cold.

It was perhaps fitting that the iciness of the unforgiving terrain lay rotting and steeping in self-loathing, trees gnarled and broken, and not even a sound nor sight of some wild beast noted for miles around. The land truly was desertion personified, and it was a land that the two Espada had come to loathe as much as they loathed what they had been made into.

The silence continued, cyan and golden eyes sharply observing the horizon, hands gripping the hilts of their katanas in case of an unsuspecting attack.

A grove of crystallised quartz forming the appearance of a forest loomed ahead; the entrance of the subterranean caverns and caves which comprised the endless decay of the Forest of Menos.

Now fast approaching, it was only until they were mere feet away from the towering growths when the two dared to speak.

"Makes ya wonder what traps he has out here ta get rid of us." Grimmjow muttered, his rough voice a low growl. His hand gripped the hilt of his zanpakutou tighter, his knuckles turning white against his tanned skin.

Szayel sighed, his expression hard. He paused in his steps, slowing down and gazing up at the barrier of dead branches rising towards the very centre of the ebony sky above them. His thoughts were a turbulent mess of suspicion.

"It's obvious that he means to do away with us, that much I cannot disagree with you on." He murmured quietly, closing his eyes for a moment.

Grimmjow turned his head to gaze at his friend. His brow creased faintly; he knew better than to ask the other his opinions of the situation. The evidence that the younger male was still stricken from what he had learnt the other day was clearly etched onto his fair features.

Instead, he sighed and turned to look back at the dense groves of dead branches opening out before the pair. He nodded.

"I don't see any Hollows around here. Or anythin', as a matter of fact. For fuck's sake, if he's gonna send somethin' after us I wish he'd get it over an' done with already. I can't wait to get back there and rip his fuckin' head off." The blue haired male grunted out, already striding forwards and drawing his katana from its sheath, the metallic ring of metal against the scabbard piercing the air.

Szayel was drawn out of his inner musings, blinking and observing the Sexta already motioning towards the thickets of the mass of trees.

His hand clasping the nucleus-like tsuba of his own zanpakutou gently, the Octava prepared to follow suit when he was stopped by a sudden call from the blue haired man.

"Oi, Szayel. Check this out." Grimmjow turned his head back to face the pink haired male, the Sexta's expression hard. He lifted a muscled arm and beckoned the slighter man over.

Frowning slightly, Szayel picked up his speed and hastily drew up against Grimmjow's side.

"What is it?" He asked.

Grimmjow's eyes narrowed, the man jerking his head towards what appeared to be a mass of grey boulders close by.

"Somethin's there." He muttered, his hand clenching his zanpakutou tighter.

Golden eyes narrowing under white rimmed glasses, Szayel's own fingers moved to draw forth his sword as he trained his gaze upon the outlined structure a while longer. He had seen it too.

From this distance, barely audible yet just visible enough in what poor light was offered from the crescent moon, faint splatters of a dark crimson substance could be seen marring the surface of the rock.

Upon closer inspection, the duo drawing closer – their steps slow and purposeful, the splatters now identified as blood smeared further past the rock and coated the sand behind the jutting boulder.

A brief silence drew across the pair. They swapped glances, their expressions both echoing the same understanding that they needed to proceed with caution.

"Do go easy on it whatever it is, Sexta. I need enough left for samples, remember." Szayel murmured quietly, his lips quirking into a faint smile.

Grimmjow scoffed, his mouth forming a slight grin.

"Shut up." He retorted, his tone amused.

He brought his blade up, the moon's glow reflecting off of the sharp steel edge, its harsh light blinding as the blue haired male moved forwards slowly, poised as if a predator about to strike on its prey.

Swiftly and silently he edged closer, his eyes set and his body tense and alert. His skin prickled with trepidation – he could feel that they were not alone. Quickly sliding his gaze to the pink haired male, he observed the slighter man's features drawn into a calculating expression, Szayel gripping his sword and his eyes glancing over the surroundings carefully; he too was aware that they were being watched. The air was heavy, whereas it had been nothing but emptiness mere moments ago.

Advancing one more step, Grimmjow's eyes darted down. The moment he set his sight on it, he stopped in his tracks.

His eyes widening slightly, he gave a sharp intake of breath.

"What the…"

His sword lowering, his cyan eyes took in the bloody mass of torn bone, ligament and disembowelled organ matter. Fragments of what looked to be a spine were shattered and cast aside, strewn recklessly about and coating the vile remains of what could have once been an Arrancar.

The stench was overwhelming; its pungent reek of decay almost causing the two Espada to gag. Szayel lifted a hand to cover his nose and mouth, the Octava having directed his gaze to the carcass mere seconds later. Gritting his teeth, his eyes narrowed.

"Whoever this poor bastard must've been, at least it saved me the trouble o' killin' it myself." Grimmjow muttered, his expression still disbelieving. He had seen much death in his life, both along the streets of Rukongai and during his time as an Espada, but never before had he seen an Arrancar taken apart so thoroughly and torn through beyond all recognition such as this.

Even its mask could barely be called a 'mask' – the bone structure having been ripped forcefully from the creature's skull and crushed into dust-like particles alongside the stomach-churning remains.

It was as if this was the work of some wild beast – a beast which was no doubt their target and the one Aizen was hoping they would run into.

"What do you make of this?" The Sexta asked, pushing that angering thought out of his mind momentarily. He turned to eye the Octava.

Szayel had frozen still, his golden eyes focused solely on the carnage before them. The creature's head had been ripped from its neck, blood pooling forth from the juncture in a syrupy coagulated flood. An arm was held out, charred fingers gripping the sand weakly, as if the Arrancar had struggled just moments before death to find something to pull itself away from its attacker.

Brain matter decorated the earthen ground, the subject's torso slashed deeply and barely hanging onto the rest of its broken body by mere flaps of skin. It was a truly sickening sight, one which made even the scientist unsettled.

Though, as he continued to regard the horrifying vision, he felt his hand clench up by his side. His mind was flooding with troubled emotions, almost nagging doubts of  _something_ pushing at his brain. As if it was an act of subconscious willingness to remember.

_Remember what?_

He pushed it aside, swallowing thickly and sliding his glasses further up against the bridge of his nose.

"Judging from the wounds, the estimated time of death appears to be approximately one hour ago. The lacerations are still too fresh for it to be an old kill. This Arrancar was nothing – the traces of reiatsu I can detect are hardly even worthy of Adjuchas level." Szayel spoke up, his voice steady yet quiet as he began slowly circling the carcass, his eyes unblinking. Grimmjow eyed the Octava carefully, his cyan eyes closely regarding the faraway expression in golden irises.

"Its attacker is that of Vasto Lorde class. Most likely a parasitic Hollow. A poison was injected through the nervous system of the body; you can see the unnatural decay of skin there on what is remaining of its limbs. This poison ate away through the epidermis and shut off vital organ functions, most likely concentrating on the lungs first and spreading through to the nervous system. As for what happened next… well… we can clearly see from the extent of the damage before us…"

The Octava paused, his voice trailing off into a whisper, an odd expression forming in golden eyes. It was only brief, but the look of pain echoing deeply in amber depths drew Grimmjow's attention.

"Szayel? What's wrong?" Grimmjow questioned quietly.

Szayel blinked, slowly lifting his head, the Sexta's rough voice cutting through the turbulence of his thoughts and dragging him back to the present.

His expression was blank as he gazed almost unseeingly at his blue haired companion.

"It's funny…" He whispered.

Grimmjow's eyes narrowed further.

"What is?" He asked again, his tone now becoming slightly agitated. The pink haired man's sudden vagueness was unnerving him, the Sexta now feeling heavily concerned.

_What the hell's wrong with him?_

Szayel blinked again.

"This… I feel like… I've seen this happen before somewhere." He finished, his soft voice still hushed.

By now, Grimmjow's brows rose in a purveyance of disbelief and confusion.

"Where?" He asked urgently. "You've seen the Hollow we're after?"

Szayel shook his head.

"No, no I haven't. Never mind. It's… it's nothing important, Grimmjow." The slighter man gave a faint smile, his tone now louder as if to change the discussion, all semblance of his previous mood now washed away to be replaced by his standard collected demeanour.

The Sexta continued to observe the pink haired man for a moment longer, his eyes still narrowed. Presently he sighed, nodding and running his free hand through his hair.

"Yeah, alright then." He muttered, turning his gaze back towards the Arrancar's remains. He scoffed faintly.

"Bastard must've failed badly to end up a piece of shit like that." He grunted out, striding forwards once more.

Szayel gave a brief murmur of acknowledgement, the Octava nodding his head. He paused once more, his eyes falling back to the repulsive decay before him.

_Failed…_

Golden eyes widened. His mind came crashing down around him.

Pale lips parted to take in sharp gasps of air, the pink haired Espada's chest rising and falling in hastened movements.

He tried to swallow, but his throat felt dry. Szayel's hands clenched, his mind becoming a dizzying blur, scattered visions of lights, green-clad figures, grief-streaked faces and hurt brown eyes dancing across his very sight.

He saw his own hand reach out before him, trying to grasp the last hope he had, trying to take the solution before him before it could all go to waste.

His hands moved up to grip at his head, his breath coming out in harsh pants. He vaguely heard a startled cry from close by, but he couldn't listen to it nor pay attention – he just couldn't.

He was shaking, jumbled words parting his lips, his limbs trembling.

He felt the poison seeping through him, the excruciating agony tearing him apart from the inside out. Warmth brimmed at the corners of his eyes.

He saw the horror in brown irises, he heard the screams echo around him as he tore down, opening his gaping maw and consuming the helpless human before him. The warmth in his eyes began to pool down his cheeks.

It was only then that he realised he was crying.

"I'm… s-sorr…y…" The words passed his lips in a broken plea for mercy, Szayel's legs almost giving out from under him.

From where he was rushing forwards, Grimmjow's mind was reeling in blind panic.

His heart raced feverishly in his chest, the Sexta's eyes wide and his yells for Szayel to snap out of it going unheeded. He had turned around immediately after noticing his companion had not followed him, instead being greeted with the sight of the younger man trembling and mumbling nonsense.

But what had cut through to Grimmjow's heart and had caused him to freeze in overwhelming horror was the unbelievable pain and fear etched into normally collected, calm features.

The expression he saw would forever haunt him, carving its way cruelly into the Sexta's mind. Something was happening to the scientist, and it was tearing the man apart.

"Oi, Szayel! Come on, get it together!"

Grimmjow didn't care that his voice was shaking with fear, all he cared about was somehow trying to get the other man to respond.

He exhaled sharply when tormented golden eyes moist with tears slowly raised to meet his gaze. Pale lips moved, Szayel evidently trying to find words to speak.

He never got the chance.

Gasping, blue eyes widened, Grimmjow running forwards and reaching out.

"LOOK OUT!"

His harsh yell echoed in the air, the blue haired man wrapping muscled arms around the pale man's slender form and knocking him down, pulling the Octava out of the way as an explosion of pure heated energy tore the air asunder in the exact space they had been standing seconds previously.

Grunting from the impact as they were sent rolling across the dry sand, Grimmjow grit his teeth and winced, pinning the now thrashing man underneath him when they came to a stop.

Szayel's struggles lessened, his eyes slowly focusing on the other male when tanned hands grabbed his shoulders, keeping him back against the sand. His chest was heaving, sweat sheening on his forehead.

His golden eyes which were alight with rage and panic soon widened into an expression of horror, the Octava only now noticing the towering monster which had appeared behind them. He gasped, his hands lessening their grappling with Grimmjow's arms, his hands falling back against the sand.

Grimmjow cussed, turning his head and his cyan eyes blazing with hatred at the leviathan creature slowly approaching, the earth shaking underneath them from the rows of column-like legs supporting a scorpion-like body.

The creature hissed, the sound a roar of defiance at the boldness of its prey, the Hollow throwing its head back and arching its gargantuan tail – pincers as sharp as scythes glistening with blood in the light of the crescent moon.

Golden and blue eyes widened, simultaneous gasps falling from lips as a thundering sound like lightning ripping through the atmosphere permeated the air, a heated glow of deep crimson energy forming from the beast's fanged mouth.

In that split second decision, Grimmjow cussed as he reached out and swiped his thumb against the bladed edge of Szayel's zanpakutou still hanging by the man's side, the faint sting in his hand going unnoticed as dark blood trickled slowly from the now-gaping wound. He held his palm out towards their attacker, a vibrant blue pulsing aura forming at his fingertips and releasing moments later to collide harshly with the monstrous Cero the best aimed at them in turn.

The air exploded with sharp blinding light, blue meeting red and the resulting tremors rippling through the earth seeming to rend the very ground apart. The world shook, the force of the destructive waves echoing for miles around.

The wind whipped at their struggling figures, the air smelling of burning flesh and decay. Thick billows of black smoke swept upwards towards the sky, blanketing it in a dense cloud to cover the silver of the moon.

When their vision was clear, the two men coughed and gagged, gasping in desperate mouthfuls of air. Fighting the urge to retch, Grimmjow groaned lowly as he hissed against the pain burning through his back, his head lowering to Szayel's shoulder.

Szayel blinked, his expression mortified when his gaze drew towards the searing burn marks marring the Sexta's back, his white jacket frayed and damaged from the result of the Cero blast. His muscled skin was red and raw, each frantic gasp for breath from the blue haired man causing him to wince.

Fighting against it, Grimmjow lifted his head, his expression angered as he looked down into the Octava's eyes, the tanned male moving back slightly from where he was still pinning the other underneath him.

Golden irises echoed a deep expression of pain.

"Grimmjow…" Szayel's voice came out as a mere whisper, the pink haired man at a loss for any other words to say. Grimmjow managed a slight grin, though it came out as more of a grimace.

"'M fine… ya finally snapped out of it. Good. Now how about ya help me deal with this bitch so we can hurry up and get our asses back in one piece, yeah?" He growled faintly.

Szayel was shaken, everything seeming to move as if in a blur as Grimmjow rolled off of him, swearing sharply when the movement caused his back to scald in violent protest to his actions. Quickly, the pink haired man helped the other to his feet, steadying the blue haired male against him as he passed him his katana which had been dropped to the ground.

Murmuring his thanks, Grimmjow took his sword, his expression livid as he gazed hatefully at the Hollow rearing and screaming to the night in pain, thrashing against the injuries it had received from the Sexta's destructive Gran Rey Cero.

Quickly sharing a look, both he and Szayel rushed forth, the tormented bellows of agony soon cutting short as the night fell into deadened silence once more.

* * *

Groaning against the pain, each step sending a jolting burn through his limbs, Grimmjow cussed faintly as the double doors opened, the pair entering the dim lighting of the cavernous laboratory that was the Octava's workspace.

Szayel cast another concerned glance towards the blue haired man, the slighter man hoisting the other's muscled arm around his shoulder further, silently urging the Sexta to lean more of his weight against him to ease his steps.

Grimmjow was not hard-pressed to agree, accepting the help gratefully and biting back another low groan of agony as he did so. His back was completely marred, the Hollow in its last desperate throes of life having swung its scythe-like tail around and sliced a deep wounding gash through the centre of the Sexta's back.

Doing what he could to staunch the bleeding with what little materials were available, shredding off the remainder of Grimmjow's jacket and hastily wiping away the excess blood, Szayel had supported the other's weight and quickly set off at an urgent sonido to the towering dome of Las Noches.

The journey had lasted less than five minutes, yet it seemed to stretch on for a lifetime, the overwhelming pain the older man was experiencing only serving to increase Szayel's anxiety.

Swearing faintly under his breath, the Octava maintained a reassuring hold on the blue haired man, wasting no time in directing him to a nearby chair and lowering him carefully down onto it, Grimmjow pulling his arm away and grunting out a sharp murmur of thanks as he sat down.

His rugged features were contorted into an expression of pure agony, the Sexta leaning forwards and burying his head in his hands and taking in shallow breaths.

He felt like his body was alight with fire – a fire which was burning him alive and almost throwing him into unconsciousness. He felt nauseous, the blue haired man willing himself to calm down as much as he could lest his stomach heave right there.

Sounds of movement filled his ears, scraping and tinkering and boxes shuffling. He couldn't open his eyes to observe what Szayel was doing – every time Grimmjow did so he saw nothing but explosions of white dancing across his vision.

Whatever poison that creature produced, it was most certainly potent enough to completely cripple the Sexta almost instantaneously. Grimmjow would have laughed if he was in any other situation, yet the pain he was experiencing chased away any thought of doing so.

The Octava's smooth voice flittered in and out of focus in his ears, Grimmjow hardly able to understand the words spoken to him, even though the other Espada was standing close by, his hands moving gently along his back, the long fingers carefully probing and cleaning away at the afflicted area.

"B-Bastard… haa... got me… good…" The Sexta hissed out through gritted teeth, his muscles clenching tightly when a sharp piercing pain, brief yet intensifying the scalding in his back tenfold, seared through his shoulder.

He growled faintly, his hands clenching in his hair tightly.

"Shhh." Szayel quietly murmured, removing the needle from Grimmjow's back and watching the torn skin slowly begin to repair itself. He ignored the grumbled comment of "easy for you to say" from his friend, the Octava instead observing the slow healing his serum had provided.

Placing the needle back against the tabletop beside them, the pink haired man then reached down to pick up a set of bandages he had pulled forth from the first-aid kit he kept underneath the glossy surface of the metal table.

He was just about to unravel them when a hand reached out and clamped firmly around his wrist, causing Szayel to lift his head only to gaze into cyan eyes. Grimmjow shook his head, managing a slight grin, though the uncomfortable pain he was feeling was still echoing deeply in azure irises.

"Nah don't… Don't need them." He managed to get out.

Holding the older man's gaze for a moment longer, Szayel sighed, nodding his head in confirmation and stowing the bandages back.

"Whatever you say, Sexta. You know more about this than me apparently." He muttered, trying despite himself to lighten the mood.

A scoffed laugh was his response, Grimmjow tilting his head back against the chair and letting out a sharp exhale of breath, the Sexta closing his eyes and focusing on his breathing as the pain mercifully began to recede ever so slowly.

"Thanks." He murmured quietly a long while later, his tone of voice so barely audible the Octava had to strain to catch the words. But he heard them nevertheless.

"You're welcome." He answered, a slight smile pulling at pale lips.

A silence fell over the two – both Espada delaying what they knew would inevitably be asked about what had happened on their mission. It was not surprising when it was Grimmjow who spoke up once more.

"Makes ya wonder what Aizen's reaction is gonna be when he sees us alive and well." He mused, a dry chuckle falling from his lips.

Szayel's smile was pained, the Octava moving forwards to the central computer, accessing the main screen and depositing the tube of reiatsu samples he had obtained from the Vasto Lorde specimen the moment it had been taken down.

The machine whirred and clinked, the tray which had extended to accept the sample now retracting back into the body of the computer. Data soon filtered across the screen, blinking in flashes of green writing.

Szayel was only half paying attention, having no real interest in what these results were displaying to him. His mind was elsewhere, his hands clenching tightly against the tabletop. His head was bowed slightly, locks of pink hair brushing over his forehead and nose.

His eyes closed, his teeth gritting.

He was so absorbed in the anguish of his mind that he didn't notice at first the sound of footsteps coming closer, stopping some short distance away from him.

"Szayel… what happened out there?"

And just like that, he felt the walls he had placed up around himself come crashing down.

Grimmjow's brows furrowed, the blue haired man crossing his muscled arms over his chest as he quietly observed the younger male. Szayel hadn't turned around, the Sexta's question left hanging in the now noticeably tense air.

His mind was surging with the memory of the hurt that he had seen in normally calm, collected features, and he wanted to know just what the hell had caused the other to act in the way that he had.

It was as if the Octava was suddenly haunted by ghosts from some sort of past – it had scared Grimmjow, as much as he was loathe to admit it.

He wanted to find out the cause of the younger males' torment. Help him even, if he could.

The minutes went by. Grimmjow's eyes narrowed.

"Hey, I'm askin' you a question here." He pressed, his tone slightly louder than moments previously. He was about to reach out and grab the other man by the arm to pull him around when he was stopped, Szayel lifting his head slowly. His shoulders were trembling.

"I… I remember." He whispered, his voice shaken. Grimmjow's brows rose, the Sexta's expression forming one of stunned confusion.

"… Remember what?" He asked.

A humourless laugh fell from Szayel's lips, the sound turning into a choked sob halfway through.

"Who I was… before… before this."

Grimmjow felt his stomach lurch painfully inside of him. The man's stricken tone almost shattered his heart just as much as the shuddering faint gasps for breath which passed his mouth did in return.

There was another silence, Grimmjow shifting a little on his feet. He knew the pain that the younger male was going through – the pain, the overwhelming emotion of having your past come flooding back to you, haunting you after so many centuries of living as nothing but a nameless fear.

Now he was recollecting and piecing together the final parts of the puzzle that was his forgotten humanity. And he was suffering. Badly.

It made the Sexta's hands clench up tightly by his sides, his teeth gritting.

"What made you remember?" He asked, his voice hoarse.

Szayel remained motionless, his eyes continuing to gaze unseeingly at the screens in front of him. He refused to face the other man.

"That Arrancar. His death… I've seen it before…" He paused, a trembling laugh being forced from his throat, the pink haired man tilting his head back slightly to gaze above at the ceiling. His hands curled into fists against the desk top. "It was the same as mine."

At this, Grimmjow's eyes widened.

The silence was deafening.

"I'm… sorry." He didn't know what else to say. He couldn't.

It wasn't until a moment later that Szayel turned his head, now slowly facing the Sexta. When he saw the agonised expression on delicate features, Grimmjow felt frozen to the spot, unable to move. The intensity in now reddened sharp golden eyes, silvery pools of tears gently dripping down pale cheeks, seemed to strip away all semblance of defence the Sexta had and bound him to his place.

"Sorry? I was sorry too. I couldn't do anything, Grimmjow. I tried… so hard… to find that cure. And you know what? I died. I promised myself I would die trying… and I did. Isn't it funny that? Even my brother would be laughing at me now. I wonder what happened to him? After I killed him that is." Szayel's lips pulled apart into a faint smile, another shuddering laugh passing his throat. A laugh which soon morphed into a fit of strangled gasps, the tears dripping down onto his white jacket as he brought up a hand to his eyes.

His body was heaving with emotion, his shoulders trembling with the effort of his tears. He looked broken, a mere shell of the controlled, collected persona that Grimmjow had come to associate him as portraying.

"Oi… it's ok. I understand how you're feelin—"

"Do you?  _Do you, Grimmjow?!_ "

Grimmjow's eyes widened at the sudden change in Szayel's tone, the man lifting his head up and his face contorted into an expression of anger. The look in his eyes was bordering hysterical, his golden irises blazing with irritation and hurt.

His voice had risen an octave, the sound now almost a high shriek.

It momentarily threw Grimmjow off guard, the Sexta once more at a complete loss for words. He blinked, his eyes echoing confusion and silently pleading with the younger man to calm down, to regain control of himself.

Breaking down would not do either of them any good, especially at this point in time.

He was about to open his mouth to speak when he was cut off once more.

"How could you possibly understand how I'm feeling, Grimmjow?!  _How?!_  You know  _nothing_ of what I had to do, what I had to go through! I promised I would save those people – they were dying. Dying! And I couldn't do anything to stop it!" Szayel was yelling now, his cries echoing around the cavernous laboratory and his piercing tone ringing in Grimmjow's ears, each hissed word gaining volume and only serving to drown out all sense of rational thought.

He was so encased in his grief that he was succumbing to the very depths of its hold over him. He was lashing out, his eyes wild.

Grimmjow's eyes narrowed, his features becoming stern.

"Szayel, you have to calm down." He spoke up, his rough voice loud and leaving no room for argument.

He was only met with a shrill laugh as his response, the sound almost eerie as it rang through the laboratory.

Szayel shook his head, his shoulders trembling again. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, the tears flowing faster down his cheeks. He gripped his head, tightening his hands through locks of his hair.

A gasp left Grimmjow's throat when the man suddenly moved, the Octava reaching forwards and fisting his fingers around a scrap of the Sexta's jacket, Szayel's teeth gritting tightly together and the pink haired male gazing with unbridled fury into Grimmjow's eyes.

"O-oi—"

"DON'T YOU TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!" Szayel cried out, shaking the other man, his voice high and wild. "I failed, Grimmjow! FAILED! Do you know what that's like? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THAT'S LIKE?! I KILLED THAT WOMAN! I HAD TO WATCH AS HER FAMILY FELL APART RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME! I failed everyone… I failed her, I failed her loved ones, just as I failed all those other patients! I failed my own brother! I told him I didn't need his help. And you know what? When he came back to find me, it was too late! I wasn't in control… I heard him calling out to me, I could see the fear in his eyes at this  _thing_ I had become. And you know what happened next? I had to listen to his screams as I tore him apart limb from limb! It was terrible, but I couldn't stop. I couldn't… not until his struggles finally ceased and he lay dead inside me. So I am asking you once more, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. You know  _nothing_ of me or my struggles. YOU KNOW NOTHING! SO DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THAT'S LIKE?!"

His screams continued to echo through the air around them both, Szayel's voice breaking and becoming a hoarse cry of fury. He gripped Grimmjow's jacket tighter, shaking the Sexta with each yell as it passed his throat.

Grimmjow was frozen, unable to move, unable to say or even  _think_  except let himself be yelled at, each shake of his body shaking his mind and leaving his brain a swimming turbulence of agony for what was happening to the man in front of him.

He was brought out of his shocked reverie when the sound of harsh sobs overtook the angered shouts leaving the Octava's mouth, Szayel's grip slackening around Grimmjow's jacket, the pink haired man falling forwards and burying his head against the tanned male's neck.

Grimmjow blinked, his eyes widening. His entire body was left in a state of shock, warm moist droplets dampening his shoulder as Szayel succumbed to his grief, the man's slender form heaving and shuddering as his emotions gave way beneath him.

A moment of heavy silence fell across the two, broken only by the heaving sobs of the pink haired man. Grimmjow sighed, closing his eyes. His stomach clenched tightly around itself, his gut seeming to churn with conflicted emotions.

A quietly murmured "shh" passed his lips, Grimmjow slowly reaching out and wrapping muscled arms around the Octava's shuddering form, embracing the Espada carefully.

He felt the slighter male tense up for the briefest of moments under the unexpected action, but he soon relaxed, easing into the other man's hold.

His anguished cries continued to pierce the otherwise heavy air, soon fading into a steady silence as he finally managed to regain control over his tormented mind. He remained where he was however, finding an ironic sense of comfort and peace in the embrace of his friend. He would have laughed at that moment, if he could.

But he could not find it within himself to feel any kind of emotion except overwhelming guilt and sadness. He felt like it was eating him whole, tearing him apart from the inside out.

Grimmjow remained silent, allowing Szayel to eventually come to his senses, feeling the now exhausted man slump tiredly against him. His arms wrapped tighter around his slender form, trying to provide some form of support and comfort for all that comfort was worth to the younger man now.

It was some while until either of them spoke.

"Aizen is… really planning on getting rid of us… isn't he? All of us."

Grimmjow sighed, his eyes opening when Szayel's whispered words filled his ears, the man's voice hoarse and raw after the echoing yells and sobs that had torn from his throat.

"Yeah. I don't think you need to see any more proof to figure that one out." The Sexta responded, his tone a quiet murmur.

A humourless chuckle left Szayel's lips.

"I don't think I needed any proof to begin with." He replied, taking a shuddering breath. Despite himself, Grimmjow allowed a faint grin to form on his mouth at this.

"… Thank you." Szayel mumbled, the words barely audible to even his own ears. Though he knew that by the tightening of the Sexta's arms around his back, the other had heard him regardless.

Grimmjow nodded, knowing that the Octava was thanking him for more than just the confirmation about Aizen. He was thanking him for understanding his grief and for trying to aid the younger man in the only way that he could.

The Sexta didn't reply with words; instead, he silently reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair behind the other's ear. The action caused golden eyes to open, Szayel lifting his head slightly, his expression echoing confusion and wariness.

He was about to open his mouth to question the other when he was stopped, golden eyes widening under white rimmed glasses as Grimmjow leant down, his mouth hovering closely over the Octava's parted lips for the briefest of seconds.

The next minute the pink haired man's shocked gasp was swallowed by the other's mouth as warm firm lips slid over his own, closing the distance between the two and making time seem to stop for all but a minute.

His mind went blank, Szayel's eyes still wide in a state of complete and utter shock, his brain ceasing to function and his body freezing. His mouth was assaulted by a warm taste of something like spiced cinnamon, the taste of the other overtaking his senses and leaving him in a dizzying haze.

He blinked, slowly coming to. An incoherent noise of protest passed his lips, the pink haired man attempting to push the other away, to reach up and pry Grimmjow off of him, but instead he found his eyes closing, his hands slowly lifting from the other's shoulders and instead entwining long fingers gently through unruly blue locks.

A single tear fell down his cheek, his emotions seeming to be tossed around and dangerously swirling inside of his brain, the pain of his past resurfacing bleeding through and the forgotten wounds healing slowly with each slow, tentative slide of lips against his own.

Grimmjow had no mind as to what had compelled him to act on impulse to press his mouth against Szayel's pale lips, and some small part of him raged out in protest. Yet he found that as the younger man slowly calmed, his lips beginning to meet his own in slow, gentle movements, Szayel relaxing and winding his hands through the Sexta's hair and fisting his fingers through the wild locks, the tanned male's doubts crashed down around him and shattered into millions of irreparable pieces.

As he tasted the distinct sweet taste of the other's mouth, his lips continuing to caress against the other's in firm, slow movements, Grimmjow's hand reaching up to cup against the younger males' cheek, the Sexta found that he never wanted these doubts to be fixed. He wanted them to stay broken and lying in fragments around him. He never wanted to regret the decision he had made.

His lips now moving in increasingly urgent movements against Szayel's, a faint moan of gratitude passing the Octava's lips and the pink haired man's hands fisting tighter in blue locks, Grimmjow knew that he was not the only one to be thinking the same – both men seeking to remain in this state of clarity for as long as it would last.

Eyes sliding closed and faint gasps for breath going unheeded, Grimmjow's mouth pressed firmer down upon Szayel's, the Sexta now cupping both of his hands around the Octava's cheeks so he could force his lips down against more of the taste and feeling that was slowly driving him hazed and dizzy with building desire.

Szayel's grip tightened in Grimmjow's hair, the pink haired man's thoughts now nothing but a jumbled mess of feelings acting upon instinct, each slide of his mouth over the other's growing increasingly needful by the second. A low groan rumbled through Grimmjow's chest, the sound eliciting a gasping moan from Szayel in response.

Hands left faces, moving now to roam quickly over backs and necks, gripping at skin and muscles before returning to locks of hair, the air becoming thick with sounds of faint heavy pants for breath and occasional breathless groans.

Biting down gently against the Octava's bottom lip, Grimmjow's tongue flicked out to slide against that pale mouth, delighting in the shivers the action sent through the younger male's body. His mouth now working quickly to devour the lips so eagerly accepting his, Grimmjow's hands tightened through silken pink locks, pulling the other man closer, loud groans passing between the two as tongues were forced together, sliding and lapping eagerly in desperate, pleading movements.

The air grew thicker with dizzying breathless gasps, all sense of original tenderness and reassurance now completely dissolved into nothing but a wild, untameable fury of mouth hungrily slamming against mouth – pain, anger, sorrow and acceptance intermingling with the unbridled raw emotion ebbing in waves with each meaningful crash of lip against lip and tongue sliding against tongue.

Only when his back hit the laboratory wall, being pushed back by the other man, a faint groan passing his throat and being swallowed hastily by the other's firm mouth, was Szayel allowed a moment of reprieve, Grimmjow parting from his lips and his forehead resting against the Octava's.

Their minds hazed and clouded, their eyes darkened and their chests rising and falling rapidly in time with each desperate gasp for air, their pants for breath were the only sounds to echo through the cavernous walls.

Slowly they regained their sense of self-control, the minutes passing by with silence. Eventually, cyan eyes opened to lock onto deep golden.

Pleased that there was no sign of regret in amber orbs, a faint grin formed on Grimmjow's lips. Ghosting his mouth once more, slowly this time, over Szayel's, he allowed a quiet murmur to fall from his lips, his whisper almost going unheard.

Szayel's eyes closed, a slight smile of gratitude pulling at his mouth.

Remaining there for a while longer, all he could think of was the security offered to him by the arms wrapping warmly around his torso, Grimmjow's murmured words echoing through his mind as the Sexta lowered his head to rest against the Octava's neck.

_"Don't you ever say you've failed anyone, Szayelaporro Granz. You haven't failed me, and you never will. I'll kick yer ass if you ever let the past get to you again."_

Chuckling faintly, Szayel allowed a quiet sigh to pass his lips.

"As insulting as always, Grimmjow." He murmured. A brief snort of amusement was his response, Szayel feeling the blue haired man's lips pull into a wider grin against his shoulder.

His chuckles soon trailing off into silence once more, Szayel's head bowed, his smile of gratitude growing wider.

Neither of them knew what they had expected upon waking up to the cold dark of Hueco Mundo, but the last thought that had certainly crossed their minds was where they found themselves now, at this very moment.

It was too complicated for words, too twisted and dangerous for both of them, especially with Aizen's firm hold over Hueco Mundo, but at this moment in time, nothing mattered except the comforting and somewhat ironic notion that enmity had carved the way for a freedom and peace that had at last been found in the arms of each other.

They remained standing there, not bothering to move.

For once, the halls of Las Noches no longer seemed so empty – in fact, they never would ever again.

 


	6. What Will Become of Us Now?

The endless night of the ebony sky loomed overhead, its enshrouding darkness broken only by filtering streams of cold silver shining down upon the white marble tiles. The air was cool, though still providing some respite from the bone-chilling iciness of the outside world.

Footsteps echoed around the walls, a white-clad figure striding back and forth with purpose, the man in evident contemplation. Before him, standing motionless and their eyes glancing to one another in subtle displays of anxiety, the blue and pink haired forms of the Sexta and Octava stood in wait after having given their latest report. The silence intensified, the shinigami traitor now mercifully pausing in his steps, his cold brown eyes sweeping over the moon-kissed plains below.

Szayel and Grimmjow tried their hardest to remain expressionless, their postures attentive and their eyes devoid of any other emotion they would otherwise be feeling in the presence of the man they loathed with all-consuming hatred.

"I am glad that you two have arrived back safely. In any case, this rogue Vasto Lorde has been exterminated accordingly?"

They were brought out of their inner musings, their minds swirling torrents of seething, and the pair glanced quickly to one another once more before nodding.

"Yes Aizen-sama." Szayel replied, the man's golden eyes sharp and clear focused. His tone was set and determined.

Aizen turned his head, regarding the two Espada carefully. Unreadable emotions played behind his eyes, and the pair were under the distinct impression that he was searching for something within their gazes. They were determined to make sure that he would not find what he was looking for. Presently, the ex-shinigami nodded, a warm smile forming on thin lips. The notion made the two's hands clench behind their backs.

"Excellent. I trust that you have obtained samples accordingly, Szayelaporro." Aizen added, his gaze returning to the pink haired man. Szayel nodded.

"Yes, Aizen-sama."

Aizen's smile remained plastered onto his thin lips. Turning back around, he began moving forth towards the balcony railing. Feeling a sense of uneasiness settle upon the two of them, Szayel and Grimmjow shifted slightly, the pair now uncomfortable.

It was some time until Aizen spoke once more.

"But one thing troubles me." He announced, his tone louder than before. He remained standing with his back turned to them, yet golden and cyan eyes narrowed regardless. "Why did you not come to inform me immediately of this occurrence the moment you returned to Las Noches?"

The atmosphere was so tense it could have been cut with a knife.

Swallowing thickly, the Sexta and Octava resisted the urge to grit their teeth, their hands clenching tighter behind their backs. Knowing full well their unwillingness to respond right away, the smirk grew on Aizen's lips as he turned his head once more to glance at them.

"We were attacked, Aizen-sama. Grimmjow was wounded and I was seeing to him. I used the opportunity while we were in my laboratory to extract and store the data of the specimen obtained. We thought it would be best to inform you once everything was in order." Szayel spoke up, his voice quiet. He forced himself to maintain eye contact, his golden irises unblinking behind his glasses.

Aizen regarded him closely for a moment. When he smiled again, it was a distinctly knowing smirk. Neither the Sexta nor the Octava liked the expression they now saw before them, their stomachs churning inside their bodies.

"That is an acceptable excuse, Szayelaporro. Though it leaves to question how Grimmjow enabled himself to become affected by something such a low class threat as that. I do believe that the restrictions on utilising your Gran Rey Cero within Hueco Mundo were made clear, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez?" Aizen turned his gaze to the Sexta now, his cold brown eyes glinting with amusement.

Grimmjow's teeth clenched, his fingers twitching. He felt swirling pools of anger bubbling away inside of him, his skin tingling with the reiatsu he was carefully trying to keep under control from flaring forth. Szayel slid his gaze to look at Grimmjow, a brief flash of uncertainty echoing in golden irises. Grimmjow's cyan eyes narrowed, the blue haired male staring at the form of his nemesis unblinkingly. It was some moment until he replied.

"In my defence, Aizen-sama," he began, the Sexta feeling bile form in his throat as the words passed his lips, "that Vasto Lorde was a tough opponent. We didn't know it had such a debilitating attack method until it was too late. I acted out of instinct."

Another silence resounded. Grimmjow's eyes continued to lock onto cold brown, his stare equalling the hard gaze directed at him in return. A low chuckle left Aizen's lips. The sound made Grimmjow's skin crawl.

"Instinct? Yes, of course. I must commend you on your intuition, Grimmjow. However I would refrain from disappointing me in the future again." Aizen's words ended on a low note, his honey-coated voice now distinctly hard in the still air. The smile never faded from his lips, instead serving to heighten the underlying malice in cold brown eyes.

Grimmjow's fists clenched tighter behind his back, the whites of his knuckles almost visible against his tanned skin. His mind was reeling, enraged fury coursing through every inch of his being. The look in that man's face and the mocking tone his voice did not even bother to conceal set the Sexta's mind alight with anger.

He knew Aizen was purposely goading him, daring him to step out of line in a public display like some kind of caged animal. Gritting his teeth tighter, Grimmjow willed himself to regain his self-control, knowing that if he gave in to his wrath now, it would only be to give Aizen a further reason for making to get rid of him. He remained silent, though with some great effort.

Beside him, he was aware of Szayel straightening, the Octava now on full alert. Briefly out of the corner of his eyes, Grimmjow noticed the conflicted emotions playing in golden eyes, the younger man evidently planning to intercede if the matter went out of hand. Grimmjow would have chuckled then if he could have, his raging anger momentarily being replaced by fond amusement.

_Don't get in the way – it'll only make it worse fer you, too._

"Grimmjow? I did not hear a response."

Biting back a growl, Grimmjow's gaze flickered back to cold brown eyes , the subtle smugness in Aizen's features only serving to irritate the Sexta further. Grimmjow refused to answer, instead maintaining his unblinking stare. Szayel chewed his bottom lip slightly, glancing quickly back to the other behind his glasses.

_Don't do something stupid Grimmjow,_ he thought urgently, the expression in Aizen's features not going unnoticed by him.

The Octava also knew that Aizen was testing the other, knowing fully well the short-temperedness of the other man. The scientist only hoped that for once, Grimmjow would use that brain he possessed for something other than thoughts of destruction if he knew what was good for him. He didn't know what he would do if Aizen caught them now.

A brown eyebrow arched, Aizen's smirk growing wider.

"Still no response? Such a shame." He sighed, his tone a fatherly chastisement yet utterly menacing for all its subtlety. "It matters not, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. I am fully aware that you know your place among us."

The next moment golden eyes widened, an audible gasp falling from pale lips as Szayel observed the Sexta gasping out, an expression of outrage etched onto tanned features as the air grew heavier in an oppressive mass, the world seeming to become dark and vision turning into blurred formations.

The Sexta struggled, his chest constricting tightly, chokes for air pitifully escaping his throat as his legs buckled and gave out from under him, Grimmjow reaching out his arms to steady himself as he fell forwards, his body shaking and trembling under the dense weight pinning him down.

His skin crawled, sweat beaded on his forehead, his cyan eyes were wide with horror and his mind became a dizzying haze as Aizen's potent reiatsu swirled around him, forcing him to the ground in an embarrassing reminder of that one night a hundred years ago – the night where Grimmjow had felt pure fear for the first time. Fear for the man in front of him, and what he was capable of. Choking and retching, his vision became a blurred mess, Grimmjow's limbs weakening and his mind losing all sense of clarity. He tried to cry out, to lash and tear away in defiance for the position he now found himself in, but he couldn't.

He was suffocating, the blue haired man barely able to lift his head to gaze in front of him. He heard a voice crying out in hurried protest, a frantic plea followed by a deep voice in response, and yet he could still not focus on anything except the overwhelming weakness he was experiencing. His mind was slipping, his very consciousness threatening to be lost as his lungs constricted tightly, forcing out the last desperate gasp of air he was willing himself to hold onto.

And then, it stopped.

The asphyxiating density of the shinigami traitor's reiatsu slowly diminished, leaving Grimmjow to gag and choke violently, his lungs burning with the oxygen now flooding once more into his body as he eagerly sucked in mouthfuls of air. His eyes were watering, Grimmjow only faintly aware that someone had rushed over, arms wrapping around his back and easing him off of the ground. The Sexta continued to gasp heavily, gratefully leaning himself against the body keeping him steady, slender arms still maintaining a firm grip on the other.

Szayel glanced back up towards Aizen, his mind seething with outrage at the horrifying display he had just been subjected to. He continued to support the Sexta's weight, the Octava's golden eyes meeting cold brown.

"Thank you, Aizen-sama." He managed out, somehow keeping his voice calm and level despite the anger he was currently experiencing. "This will not happen again, I assure you."

Aizen's gaze slid to focus on the Octava, regarding the pink haired man carefully with cold brown irises.

"I have no doubts of that." He replied, his thin lips forming a pleasant smile. A smile which sent a stabbing fear and loathing coursing through the scientist's being.

Grimmjow cussed faintly under his breath, the harshly muttered word not going unheeded by the Octava. Szayel tightened his hold around the Sexta. Aizen's smile continued to echo amusement, the shinigami traitor slowly turning his back on the pair.

"You are dismissed." He announced, his oily baritone echoing throughout the chamber.

Bowing his head slightly in inclination, Szayel cast another glance to Grimmjow, the blue haired man already making to pull away to steady himself. Golden eyes gazing searchingly into cyan blue for a moment, the two men exited, the door closing behind them with a heavy thud.

* * *

Not one of them dared to speak until the door was securely locked behind them, the laboratory's familiar silence a welcoming presence after the oppressiveness of the chamber they had just exited.

Szayel cast another concerned glance towards the Sexta, Grimmjow still gasping faintly for breath after his ordeal with Aizen.

"Are you ok?" The Octava asked, his tone quiet. Grimmjow managed a faint smile, scoffing in amidst his pants for air. He nodded.

"Yeah… I'll be fine." He grunted out, sighing as he pulled out a nearby chair and sat himself down. His hands clenched tightly over his knees, his head bent. Szayel could feel the man's reiatsu flickering in heated waves, the Sexta finally allowing himself to give in to the anger he was feeling.

Chewing his lip slightly and averting his gaze to the computer screens, the Octava's golden eyes carefully observed the blank monitors. They weren't turned on, but it was better than gazing at the blue haired male currently trying to find some way to cope with his rage. He felt his gut churn and his stomach sicken at what Aizen had done to him – the mere thought making Szayel's hands clench tightly by his sides. Willing himself to calm down, he took a deep steadying breath, his features smoothing over into a look of calm collectedness.

"Why do you care?"

Pink brows furrowed, Szayel turning his head to gaze at the Sexta, who was now eyeing the Octava with a weary expression on his tanned features. The man's quiet question caught the slighter male off guard momentarily.

"What do you mean?" Szayel asked, his eyes echoing confusion.

Grimmjow gave a tired sigh, a faint scoff of humourless laughter falling from his lips as he leant back in the chair. When he focused cyan eyes on the pink haired man once more, the gaze in them was tired.

"Why do you care so much if I'm hurt by that prick?" He asked again.

Szayel frowned slightly, moving forwards so he was standing in front of the seated man. He remained silent for a moment, at a loss for how to respond. When he did, his voice was quiet.

"How could I not?"

At this, a blue brow arched in amusement, a faint grin pulling at Grimmjow's lips. The Sexta shifted a little more so he was leaning further back in his chair, his eyes regarding the male in front of him carefully.

"That's not like you, Granz." He chuckled.

Szayel sighed, unable to find it within himself to respond to the Sexta's quip. He turned his head to gaze at the opposite wall, chewing his lip in thought once more. Closing his eyes for a minute, he exhaled sharply.

"I don't think I can find it in my heart not to care. Unless everything yesterday really did mean nothing." He whispered. There was a long silence. His eyes slowly reopening, Szayel slid his gaze back to the Sexta, gauging the man's reaction. Grimmjow's expression was torn – seemingly caught between a look of amusement, acceptance and guilt. It was some moment until he opened his mouth to speak, his rough voice strained.

"Yeah, well… it didn't though, did it?" He muttered, reaching up a hand to rub the back of his neck. A faint smile pulled at Szayel's lips.

"No, it didn't. That's what you're trying to tell me, but we both know that's not true. Is it, Grimmjow?" He murmured softly.

A scoff left Grimmjow's mouth.

"I swear tryin' to win an argument against you is like Ulquiorra finally admittin' he gets his ass stuffed every night." The Sexta grumbled.

Szayel laughed quietly, moving closer and sighing as he reached out a gloved hand, gently threading long fingers through unruly strands of sky blue locks. Grimmjow's eyes locked onto the Octava's with a wary expression, though the tanned male made no move to pull away.

"To think I loathed you, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. I still do of course, on occasion, but I've finally come to see that side of you which I've been trying to discover for quite some time. I'm… not ashamed to admit that I admire what I find in you." Szayel muttered quietly. Grimmjow's mouth quirked into a slight grin, a snort of amusement passing his lips.

"Feeling's mutual, Granz." He responded, continuing to eye the man in front of him with a brow raised.

The smile on pale lips grew into a sly smirk, the pink haired man's golden eyes glinting with a distinctly mischievous air. Grimmjow's features became wary once again, the blue haired male unsure as to what was going through the scientist's head. He wasn't sure he would like it or not.

"And you're trying to tell me you're pushing aside everything just like that, are you?" The Octava continued, his smirk growing wider. Grimmjow didn't bother to retort, instead sighing heavily and glancing to the computer screens behind the pink haired man.

"It's not that." He muttered. He could virtually feel the Octava's expression furrowing into one of confusion. Grimmjow closed his eyes momentarily, taking a deep breath. "It's Aizen. He's already plannin' to get rid of us. I don't see why we should pretend to make somethin' out of it when we won't be alive the next day."

There was a thoughtful silence, Szayel's fingers continuing their soft stroking motion through the Sexta's blue locks.

"I see. But I think, Grimmjow, that your mindset is a little immature, don't you think?" The Octava spoke up, his eyes glinting with mirth.

At this, Grimmjow's eyes opened and he gazed in irritation at the man in front of him.

"What do you mean?" He snapped.

Szayel chuckled, sighing and all sense of amusement now fading to be replaced with a serious air, the pink haired man moving to slide himself over Grimmjow's lap, his legs resting firmly against either side of the Sexta's waist. An audible gasp left firm lips, Grimmjow's eyes widening. He was about to protest when a gloved index finger moved to press against his mouth, silencing him. Cyan eyes instead gazed shocked into dark golden, Szayel's features still expressionless. When he spoke, his voice was a low murmur.

"What I mean, Grimmjow, is that you can deny it all you like but it doesn't change the fact that you want this just as much as I do."

Grimmjow made to retort once more, but he found that he was silenced further by the finger still pressing against his lips. Despite himself, an involuntary noise left his mouth when Szayel shifted slightly, lowering his head to rest his forehead against the Sexta's, strands of his silken pink locks splaying out gracefully against his cheeks.

A quiet sigh left pale lips, Szayel tracing his fingers down the blue haired man's cheeks, stopping to run along the ridges of the jaw-like mask adorning the right side of his face. Grimmjow tensed up, the action sending shivers down his spine.

"But, Ai—"

"Aizen  _is_  going to attempt to get rid of us, it could be tomorrow or the day after, or the day after that, I don't know. But if this moment is all that's afforded to us I don't want to waste a single second." Szayel interjected over Grimmjow's words. As he spoke, his lips dipped down lower, almost grazing against the warm firmness of the Sexta's.

Grimmjow's breath hitched, his mind already numb. His eyes closed almost of their own accord, a hand freeing itself from the armrest of the chair to trail up over the Octava's slender arm, beginning to inch closer towards the back of the man's neck to entwine through pink locks. Another unbidden sound left his throat when his lips made to move forwards, only to find that Szayel had lifted his head back. Growling faintly, Grimmjow's now darkened cyan eyes opened to glare warningly at the Octava.

Chuckling faintly, Szayel regarded the man before him carefully.

"What are you doing?" Grimmjow's voice was laced with an air of impatience, the Sexta completely ignoring the faint breathlessness of his tone as he gazed into golden eyes.

"Making sure you know what  _you're_  doing." Szayel responded, a faint smile forming on his lips. Grimmjow's brows furrowed, his expression becoming irate.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean? If you want me all you have to do is ask. Or not even that." He snapped back.

A pink eyebrow raised in amusement.

"Oh? And how do you want me to ask you, Grimmjow?" Szayel quipped, a knowing glance forming in his features. He chuckled, knowing fully well that he was teasing the other man. Grimmjow knew this too, yet despite how he was acting, they both knew that he was enjoying this little game just as much as the scientist was.

Szayel leant forwards, a hand sliding down the exposed ridges of firm muscles of the Sexta's chest, relishing in the twitch of the man's warm skin underneath his fingertips. He smiled at the faint intake of breath as he ghosted his lips over the side of the man's jawline, trailing feather light kisses towards Grimmjow's ear. The body beneath him stiffened up, Grimmjow seemingly holding his breath lest the next gulp of air he took gave away the trembling he was experiencing throughout his entire being.

Szayel closed his eyes, opening his mouth to whisper lowly into the Sexta's ear, his melodic voice now a low seductive murmur.

"'I want you in my room, in my bed Grimmjow. I want to feel you inside me, making me writhe in ecstasy, making me lose myself to you as you make love to me.' Should I ask like that, hmm?" He smiled, chuckling when a faint groan sounded deep in the Sexta's throat, Grimmjow's eyes sliding closed and the man swallowing thickly.

Szayel gently bit down against the lobe of the man's ear, Grimmjow's throat releasing a low purring groan in response and making the Octava's eyes flutter. Giving a soft growl of his own, Szayel's hand moved to cup against the Sexta's thigh, his fingers gripping the firm muscle dangerously close to where he could both feel and see the prominent arousal through the man's hakama. He delighted in the gasp this drew from the older male, Szayel biting down once more against the man's earlobe and nibbling faintly.

"Or should I ask like this? 'I want you to hold me down and bare me to you, drive into me again and again with your thick cock and make me scream. I want you to fuck me, Jaegerjaquez, fuck me so raw I can't even come back down from how high you make me.' How about that, mmm?"

Grimmjow was panting by now, his dick stirring and twitching in excitement through the sudden uncomfortable tightness of his hakama. When he opened his eyes, feeling Szayel's lips pull into another smile against his ear before the younger man moved back, his cyan orbs were darkened considerably with unmistakeable lust. His heart pumping quickly inside his chest, the Sexta swallowed thickly as he trained his gaze upon equally darkened gold orbs echoing an amused yet knowing air. Giving a faint strained laugh, Grimmjow licked his now dry lips.

"I think the answer to that is pretty damn obvious." He chuckled, his voice a husky purr. Szayel's brows rose into a look of feigned confusion, though the sharp intake of breath that passed his lips did not go unnoticed.

"Oh? So what's it going to be then, Grimmjow? Something that can easily be pushed aside and blamed on a spur of the moment?" The Octava whispered, his eyes now giving away a faint expression of disappointment. It was fleeting, but Grimmjow saw it nevertheless.

His smile grew wider, the blue haired man shaking his head and chuckling once more, reaching up a hand and threading his fingers through the silken pink locks which brushed past the pale man's cheek. Szayel froze, his sharp eyes studying Grimmjow carefully as the other leant forwards in his seat, the proximity of the younger man still seated on his lap causing their chests to slide together, Grimmjow's lips now ghosting ever so slightly over the Octava's parted mouth.

Still smiling, Grimmjow's eyes remained locked on deep golden, even as he used his free hand to reach up and remove the pink haired man's glasses, the action causing amber irises to blink in brief shock. Letting them drop onto the nearby table, Grimmjow moved to rest his hand against the side of the man's neck. Szayel was trembling slightly, his bottom lip quivering as he saw the confirmation of all that he needed to know in cyan eyes gazing unblinkingly into his own. Grimmjow knew this too, yet he continued to grin as he parted his mouth to speak.

"No, Szayel. It's not." He murmured. His grin widening at the evident expression of disbelief now forming on pale delicate features, the Sexta closed the distance and pressed his lips to the Octava's parted mouth. Szayel's mind was still frozen, even as Grimmjow continued to guide his mouth over his own, each caress of his lips sending warm tingles through the Octava's spine.

His eyes now sliding closed, a smile forming on his mouth, Szayel was coaxed out of the doubt slowly fogging his mind. He eagerly responded, pressing back against Grimmjow's lips, the pair immediately finding their rhythm amongst swift, tender kisses, hands fisting gently through silken pink and unruly blue strands of hair. Grimmjow gave a faint pleased groan in response, feeling the Octava relax underneath him, the Sexta's mouth becoming once more pleasantly assaulted by that sweet taste which he found continued to drive him hot with desire.

Chuckling through the kiss, Grimmjow's hands fisted tighter through silken pink strands of hair, pressing his mouth firmer down upon pale lips, letting the other know with each deep slide of mouth over mouth that he would not be letting the other go so easily. Szayel gave an appreciative groan in response, the younger man's hands trailing down the Sexta's neck before fisting once more through blue locks, his other hand sliding down to grip at the tanned man's waist. Faint pants for breath mingling between the increasingly swift slide of their lips against each other's, slight pleasurable noises passed their throats, their grip on each other tightening once more, hands beginning to roam down from hair to necks, to backs and then over their chests.

Their minds quickly becoming hazed with desire, neither of them realised when their kisses had turned hungered and passionate, groans turning into gasping moans with each devouring crash of lip against lip, Szayel suddenly getting lifted out of the other's lap and pushed back against the nearby table, Grimmjow pinning the younger man underneath him and growling as he slammed his mouth forcefully down upon now-reddened lips.

Szayel groaned, his eyes fluttering and his panting breaths becoming higher as his mouth was crushingly assaulted by the Sexta's firm lips, the blue haired man now biting down against his mouth and placing sharp nips of his teeth and flicks of his tongue over the Octava's bottom lip. Szayel shivered, his tongue dipping out and catching Grimmjow's, eliciting a wanton moan from the older man. The sound shot straight down to the Octava's groin, Szayel's hips jerking forwards seemingly of their own accord when Grimmjow caught his tongue and began sucking slightly on the moist appendage.

Growling at the blissful friction against his own aching arousal, Grimmjow bucked his hips forwards in response, chuckling when Szayel's body twitched and the man gave a breathless gasp, his eyes rolling and his back arching ever so slightly. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, the bulge in his hakama letting Grimmjow know just exactly how the other man needed this as much as he did.

Grinning at this reaction, Grimmjow ground his hips down once more, the shaking moan passing pale lips causing his dick to twitch impatiently. He plunged his tongue down further onto Szayel's, Grimmjow's hands gripping slender hips and the Sexta beginning a slow grinding motion of his hips over the other's. Szayel moaned against the euphoric feeling, his own body jerking up to meet each wave of pleasure as their cloth-covered erections rubbed together, saliva already dripping enticingly down lips and chins as their tongues swirled and danced inside the Octava's mouth.

He was already losing himself, Grimmjow's mind becoming nothing but a haze of lust-driven desire as he bucked his hips with increasingly forceful actions. The sounds escaping Szayel's mouth amidst their tongues tasting and sucking drove the blue haired man wild, each breathless second sending them both into overdrive. Finally maintaining enough control to pull away, Grimmjow hungrily lapping at the small trail of saliva which still connected their lips together, the Sexta leant back and pulled Szayel up, helping the other off of the table.

Mouths met and connected roughly together once more, groans swallowed by each other's lips and husky moans echoing around the laboratory as Szayel guided Grimmjow towards the Octava's room situated at the back of the laboratory, the two a frantic tangle of limbs and teeth, lips and tongue, hands flying and mouths devouring each other with a desperate hungered need.

The door flying open and hitting the wall, the two men gave it no mind as they stumbled through, not bothering to part from one another. Feeling himself being guided forwards further, Grimmjow's hands slid up from where they had been exploring the slender ridges of the Octava's hips, instead caressing his hands against either side of the man's pale cheeks.

It was with some great effort that he parted slowly, the two Espada left dizzy and gasping desperately for breath. Resting his forehead against the younger males', Grimmjow met Szayel's mouth in another soft flurry of kisses, lapping away at the saliva passed between them before opening his cyan blue eyes and gazing intently into equally clouded golden orbs.

"You're… yer really sure about this?" He asked, his voice hoarse.

Szayel blinked, an amused expression forming in his eyes as he chuckled, grazing his swollen red lips against Grimmjow's firm mouth once more.

"I am. I want you." He whispered, his voice low and heated.

Grimmjow closed his eyes, a shiver running through his spine at the seductive tone the man's voice had taken. He nodded, swallowing thickly. His lips pulled apart into a grin. Who was he to deny that? The feeling was mutual after all. Stroking his hand along the other's cheek, displaying a tenderness that he had never shown for anyone else, Grimmjow's smile echoed Szayel's as the Sexta allowed himself to be pushed back against the bed, the mattress hitting the back of his legs and sending him sprawling out onto his back on the soft covers.

His breath catching faintly when the Octava smiled softly, Szayel climbing onto the bed and kneeling over Grimmjow's form, cyan eyes remained locked onto deep golden as the pink haired man reached up to his neck and began to unzip his jacket. Licking his dry lips, Grimmjow shrugged off his own jacket and threw the garment over the side of the bed, revealing his toned chest in its entirety to the other male.

Szayel's golden eyes gazed over every inch of muscle revealed to him with appreciation, his eyes locking once more onto Grimmjow's as the younger man finished unzipping his shirt. The jacket fell away, the pale man slipping his slender form out of it and casting it aside just as Grimmjow had done.

Reaching out and running his hands over the milky pale skin now shown to him, his fingers delighting in the way the lightly toned torso under his touch twitched in response, Grimmjow grinned as Szayel's eyes slid closed, a soft moan passing his lips at the feel of warm hands running over his chest and hips. Grimmjow leant forward, about to open his mouth and slide his tongue over the rosy bud of a pebbled nipple, but he was stopped when a quiet chuckle cut him off. Raising his eyes he was met with a mischievous expression forming in golden irises, Szayel's lips forming a sly smirk as he lunged forwards and crashed his lips back down onto the Sexta's, his tongue flicking slowly over the man's firm mouth.

Groaning, Grimmjow's mind became hazed, his lips sliding back almost of their own accord as hands trailed down his chest, feeling and caressing each toned dip of his abdomen, trailing lower until long fingers deftly dipped underneath the waistband of his hakama. His eyes flying open, a gasp left the Sexta's lips when the Octava pulled away from his mouth, the pink haired man's lips now trailing in heated slow caresses down Grimmjow's neck, Szayel biting faintly against the Sexta's throat and eliciting a deep panting groan from the blue haired man.

His chest rising and falling rapidly under the other's ministrations, his heart pounding feverishly inside his chest, each touch sent fire shooting throughout Grimmjow's body, his dick already straining to unbearable levels underneath his hakama. His head fell back against the pillow, faint beads of sweat sheening on his forehead when Szayel's tongue flicked around the bud of a nipple, the Octava humming in appreciation to the response he received and beginning to lightly scrape his teeth against the sensitive skin.

He was teasing him, laving his tongue slowly over Grimmjow's chest for the briefest of moments before his mouth pulled back and trailed lower, Szayel now kissing and sliding his tongue down the muscled ridges of the man's chest. An impatient groan left Grimmjow's mouth, the sound so deep and husky that Szayel almost stopped what he was doing. He lifted his eyes, his golden orbs meeting the darkened cyan irises of Grimmjow's, and a faint gasp fell from the Octava's throat, Grimmjow's expression nothing short of lustful.

His body stirred, Szayel shivering with the overwhelming pleasure that heated look shot through him. Needing no further encouragement, feeling far too impatient himself to continue taking his time, Szayel parted his mouth from the Sexta's abdomen, kissing the muscle underneath the Hollow hole carved through the man's stomach, and slid down the man's hakama with one swift movement, freeing the tanned males' erection to the cool air of the room.

Grimmjow swallowed thickly again, his breaths coming out as harsh pants when the restrictiveness of his clothing was finally removed. He carefully gauged the other man's reaction, Szayel eyeing the inflamed member before him, Grimmjow's length already beading with pearly white droplets. Cyan eyes widened and a hand came up to fly to his mouth, Grimmjow biting against his knuckles when Szayel smiled faintly, opening his mouth and lowering his head without a second's hesitation.

"F-fuck..." Grimmjow's voice was a hoarse groan, his expression going from disbelieving to hazed, a long gasp of pleasure tearing through his throat, the sound quickly morphing into a low growl when the Octava's lips parted and the pink haired man slid his mouth down over the tip of the Sexta's straining length. His brain overloading with pleasure, a shaking groan rumbled through the Sexta's chest, Grimmjow's head falling back once more and his eyes clamping shut.

His chest rose and fell, the feel of Szayel's tongue sliding along his over-sensitive length causing pleasure to explode through him, every sense on alert and feeling as if he was on fire. His hips bucked, his length beginning to slowly drip when that hot mouth continued to slide and suck. White flecks formed in Grimmjow's vision, the Sexta biting his knuckles almost hard enough to draw blood and his entire body shaking, his back arching against the feeling of blinding euphoria. Szayel groaned softly as he observed each movement carefully, continuing to administer to the man's member, everything about the Sexta's twitching responses and those deep lustful groans beautiful to him in more ways than he could even begin to describe.

A particularly loud groan falling from Grimmjow's lips, the sound now desperate as lust-ridden blue eyes opened to gaze pleadingly at the Octava made Szayel stop, the pink haired man's mind momentarily going blank at the look in the other's flushed face.

"Fuck! S-Szay… ngghhh…" Grimmjow's teeth grit, his eyes clamping shut again and his hips snapping forwards when he felt his length become swallowed further inside the moist heat of the other's mouth, feeling the man's tongue lap out and work to slide down his member in tandem with the swallowing motions of the man's throat. Hands flew down to fist tightly through pink hair, each breath escaping Grimmjow's lips more desperate, each growl becoming low and feral as his abdomen pooled with blissful heat. Szayel groaned around the Sexta's length, the Octava dipping his head lower and moving his throat faster, both men losing themselves in heat and lustful moans of desire.

Lewd sucking noises permeated the air, Szayel's head getting pushed down further as words garbled incoherently from Grimmjow's mouth, the blue haired man unable to stop himself from thrusting his hips forwards, needing more of that moist heat around his straining dick. Szayel gripped Grimmjow's hips tightly, his fingers digging into the tanned skin, his tongue eagerly lapping at everything offered to him as he swallowed the small spurts already gathering in his mouth from his ministrations. Groaning softly, he felt the Sexta's member twitch, Grimmjow letting out a panting growl as his back arched against the sensation.

His cheeks hollowing and his lust-flared golden eyes raising to take in every ounce of perfection that was the wild male writhing in ecstasy above him, the pink haired man moved his head, his actions being guided further by Grimmjow's now near-erratic thrusting of his hips, the Sexta desperately forcing Szayel down lower onto his straining cock. Strands of blue locks clinging damply to his forehead, Grimmjow bit his lip and glanced down, an animalistic snarl of pleasure leaving his throat when he locked cyan eyes onto cunning amber, the Octava smiling deviously and bobbing his head slowly between the tanned male's legs. Stroking his fingers through pink locks, Grimmjow could no longer control himself; his breathing heavy, he could hardly hold back from his hips desperately snapping forwards, fucking erratically into the younger man's mouth, Szayel groaning aloud and gripping Grimmjow's hips tight enough to draw blood as he eagerly met each thrust and slide, his tongue expertly working harder around Grimmjow's aching cock.

"F-fuck! I'm… I'm gonna…" Grimmjow couldn't even finish his sentence, a loud growl of ecstasy tearing from his chest as his member gave one last excited twitch, the next second the Sexta seeing white as he exploded, Szayel having coaxed him to blissful release with a final hard suck and a seductive moan of approval.

Lifting his head slightly, an echoing groan fell from the Octava's throat when Grimmjow's hips stilled, his dick twitching before hot ribbons of his release spurted forth. His mouth working to swallow the sticky strands, it was a moment later when Szayel slipped his mouth off of the others' member, an audible moist  _pop_ being heard as he did so. He licked his lips, glancing back up at Grimmjow, the Sexta having fallen back against the bed and the man lifting a shaking hand to press to his forehead. He was breathing heavily, his body dampened with faint beads of sweat.

Momentarily ignoring the jolt of pleasure this coursed down to his steadily growing arousal, Szayel slid up the other's body, reaching out a hand and gently stroking it down the Sexta's cheek.

"Are you ok?" He whispered, glancing down at Grimmjow's flushed face with an air of concern in his golden eyes.

Cyan eyes opened, Grimmjow grinning faintly at the Octava and resting his hand against the other's on his cheek. He nodded.

"Yeah." He mumbled hoarsely. Szayel was about to open his mouth to question the other when blue eyes glinted with a mischievous air, but he was unable to do so when Grimmjow sat up and collided his lips roughly against the Octava's. Faint moans of pleasure echoed deep within their throats, the two once more hungrily feasting upon each other's mouths, lips sucking and sliding together heatedly as Grimmjow's hands slipped under the waistband of Szayel's hakama, divesting the younger man of the last item of clothing he had left.

Gasping against the other's lips and shivering when his dripping length was freed from its confines, Szayel's eyes widened and his head fell back, a long surprised moan passing his lips when Grimmjow bit his teeth gently against the man's pale neck, his hand sliding down and roughly gripping the Octava's member.

"G-Grimm…jow…" Szayel's moans became louder, his face flushed red with pleasure when Grimmjow began stroking the twitching length in his hands, biting down against Szayel's neck hardly with his teeth and earning a shuddering cry from the other in response to the mark now marring his smooth skin. The Sexta chuckled darkly as he lapped his tongue along the bite he had placed, his cyan eyes opening to fondly eye with amusement the Hollow hole near the tip of the Octava's cock. Growling in appreciation he thumbed the member just underneath the hole, causing tremors to visibly wrack the younger man's frame, Szayel's head falling forwards and the Octava gritting his teeth as his head fell against Grimmjow's neck, his arms wrapping tightly around the Sexta's muscled form.

Chuckling once more, Grimmjow trailed hot kisses down the pink haired man's neck and jaw, gathering droplets of pre-cum from the man's straining member and slicking his fingers, positioning a digit at the younger man's entrance. A noise of confusion escaped his lips a moment later when Szayel quickly reached down, gripping Grimmjow's wrist and preventing him from continuing. Glancing searchingly into golden eyes, Grimmjow's brows furrowed in confusion when Szayel slowly lifted his head, his delicate features now flushed and hazed with ecstasy. The look on his face was enough to make Grimmjow's cock swell with arousal once more despite his recent orgasm.

"N-no. Don't… don't go easy on me." The Octava whispered, his voice hoarse. He was panting, his eyes flaring with desire.

Swallowing thickly, Grimmjow waited a moment to let the plea sink in. Meeting amber orbs and studying the pleading look in the pink haired man's expression, a slow grin stretched across Grimmjow's mouth.

"Alright then." He murmured, pulling his hand back. A faint smile formed on pale lips, Szayel's eyes widening and a soft gasp escaping his mouth when Grimmjow firmly gripped slender hips and pushed the Octava down, the pink haired man falling onto his stomach on the mattress and reaching his hands out to steady himself, now on all fours.

Whipping his head around to glance at the male behind him, strands of dishevelled pink hair fell over curious golden eyes, their expression soon becoming knowing and a quiet gasp parting pale lips when Szayel observed Grimmjow kneeling behind him, the Sexta's cyan eyes glancing appreciatively over every inch of the man prostrate before him and bared completely for him and him only. It sparked something deep and carnal inside of him, Grimmjow growling in delight at the supple curve of that slender pale body, the man's member erect and straining heavily between his parted legs. He glanced up to lock eyes with Szayel's, the Octava letting out another unbidden gasp at the primal expression in vibrant blue eyes. Smiling, Grimmjow reached out and gripped either side of the man's slim hips, delighting in the body under him stiffening at his touch.

Leaning over the other's back and trailing his lips down the Octava's ear, relishing in the shivers coursing through the younger man's body, Grimmjow's smile grew at the soft moan which parted that sinful mouth, the Sexta biting down gently against the scientist's earlobe.

"Relax." He whispered hotly, flicking his tongue gently against the side of the man's throat. "I won't hurt you."

Hazed golden eyes opened, a soft smile forming on pale lips at these words. Szayel turned his head slightly, meeting the sincere expression in clouded cyan irises. He nodded.

"I know…" He murmured, his lips finding Grimmjow's and caressing them with slow, tender movements, even as Grimmjow aligned himself and gripped down hardly on slender hips, parting the younger man's legs further and inserting the tip of his now-erect cock inside the Octava's tight passage.

Eyes snapped open, Szayel's head pulling away and falling forwards, his body jerking and a quiet cry flew from his lips at the sudden intrusion. He grit his teeth, clenching his jaw and his fists tightening in the bed sheets as a low groan passed his throat, his eyes squeezing shut tightly. Grimmjow groaned, the heat of the man's tight passage around his twitching member feeling so intoxicating to him that his mind was threatening to go blank. He gasped, waiting a moment for the other to adjust, Szayel's body twitching and soft whimpers parting pale lips.

The Sexta began to circle his hands around slender hips, the tanned male biting his lip and murmuring a quiet "shh, relax" to the younger man. Szayel groaned lowly, sweat already beading down his forehead as he hung his head, nodding and rolling his hips back to signify the other to continue moving. He groaned lowly once more when the action sent pain rolling through him, his breath coming out as a shuddering gasp.

"N-now… p-please…" He panted heavily, unable to wait any longer.

Shooting another quick look of concern towards the pink haired man, Grimmjow regarded him for a moment before nodding, pulling back out slowly before thrusting in once more, sliding a little higher inside his lover's tight heat. Szayel cried out once more, garbled words falling from his lips as he fell forwards, his head falling against the sheets and his hands fisting tighter through the mattress. He was trembling, his body quivering with the sensation of being filled. Another high whimper left Szayel's lips, Grimmjow trying to keep himself back from thrusting recklessly inside the man's body. He thought he was hurting him, in fact he probably was, but the faint strangled "k-keep… going…" erased all doubts in his clouded mind.

Grinning, seeing the Octava's eyes opening slightly, the man's irises lust-filled and his face flushed in pleasure, Grimmjow grunted in approval, Szayel's body jerking when the Sexta pulled back out a third time and waited momentarily before driving back in until he sheathed himself fully inside the man's tight hole.

"F-fuck… S-Szayel… you... haa… feel… so good…" Grimmjow groaned out, his head falling forwards and his teeth gritting.

An echoing gasping cry filled the air, Szayel's back arching and a long, low moan tearing from his throat. His mind exploded, the pain and pleasure burning through him multiplying tenfold into ecstasy. Grimmjow groaned loudly, gripping pale hips so tightly he was almost bruising them. Szayel rocked his hips back, whimpering and urging the other man to keep going, his breathless cries becoming higher when the action sent him riding further back onto the thick length filling him up.

Chuckling, Grimmjow slid back to drive forwards once more, passionate groans becoming low animalistic growls, lost amongst the heightening breathless moans passing the Octava's lips, Szayel twitching and gasping with each rock and roll of the Sexta's hips driving himself deeper inside the man's passage.

"AH! G-Grimm…jow… haa…" His lover's name had barely even passed Szayel's lips when another delighted moan tore from his throat, Grimmjow growling and thrusting forwards sharply and sending the Octava jerking forwards, his head falling once more back against the mattress.

He was almost finding it hard to breathe, unable to find the strength to lift his head, yet he didn't care – all he could register in his lust-clouded mind was pleasure, overwhelming pleasure as Grimmjow pulled back out, ramming inside his passage once more and making his vision blur with white spots. The almost primal growls escaping the Sexta's throat elicited a low, wanton moan from the Octava, Szayel needing more and rocking back to meet each sharp, hungry snap of hips, effectively guiding the other in greedily.

They were panting heavily, the air laced with the sounds of pleasure-ridden gasps, moans and breathless cries of each other's names. Grimmjow felt himself twitch with excitement deep inside the Octava's tight heat, seeing the younger man losing himself and rocking back, each time meeting the Sexta's cock sending wracking shudders through the slender man's twitching frame. Gripping lean hips tighter, Grimmjow almost felt himself release when a deep purr of "more…" fell from Szayel's lips, the man managing to turn his face slightly to gaze at Grimmjow from where the Octava's cheek was still resting against the mattress. His face was flushed red, strands of his hair sticking to his sweat-slicked forehead. Grimmjow almost felt like he would stop breathing, that one expression alone doing so much to his mind that he had to will himself to remain in control, keeping a tight reign on his pending orgasm.

Gritting his teeth, he managed a husky chuckle, even as he pulled back out and rammed himself further inside the pale man's pleasurably abused passage with a merciless force. Szayel's golden eyes widened, a loud cry falling from his lips as his mouth fell open, his body jerking and his spine arching in response.

"AH! TH-THERE! H-HARDER!" He screamed aloud in pleasure, the man having lost all sense of self control that he had left. Grimmjow licked his lips, smirking as he pulled away from the other's prostate, wanting to see that same reaction over and over again.

"You like that, Szayel?" He panted, his voice a deep, husky purr. Szayel nodded his head quickly, shamelessly keening as he cried out once more.

"YES! P-PLEASE! M-MORE!" He was almost sobbing, his body so overtaken with pleasure that he couldn't think anything clearly except needing  _more_ , more of that blissful ecstasy which drove him wild.

Smiling, Grimmjow grunted, leaning forwards so he was splayed out over the other's back, Szayel moaning and bucking back against the Sexta when Grimmjow began thrusting in with piston-like movements, hitting his prostate once, twice more. He fucked him harder, harder, their mingled cries soon becoming swallowed as firm lips hungrily met pale ones, hands reaching forwards to lace fingertips together, the two men needing to keep each other close lest they fall apart.

Grimmjow angled upwards sharply, the sudden change in his speed and direction causing Szayel to almost scream in delight. Fuelled by the man's slender body snapping and gracefully curving back and forth in ways that he never thought possible, Grimmjow elicited a possessive growl, biting his teeth against the side of the Octava's neck and lapping faintly at the fresh mark he placed there. The action caused a low, wanton moan to fall from pale lips, drunken cries of "more... more... so... good..." to pass heatedly from Szayel's lips, the younger man completely enslaved to his pleasure. Sweat sheened faintly on Grimmjow's brow, the blue haired man guiding his twitching cock inside his lover's tight heat over and over, the Sexta now biting down against the tattooed '8' on the back of the pink haired males' neck, lapping and kissing the sensitive skin.

A shuddering gasp of pleasure tore from pale lips, Szayel's eyes widening and his body seeming to freeze. He moaned, his head falling forwards and hitting against the mattress once more. He was sobbing, crying in ecstasy from the combined pleasure of the bites serenading his neck and each blissful intrusion of his body by his lover's length. He was so close, barely unable to stave off his release much longer yet he didn't care. He wanted more, he wanted all Grimmjow could give him, he wanted to never regain control of himself and become consumed completely by the other.

Feeling his lover tighten and clench around him, guiding him inside more and hungrily accepting all he was being offered, Grimmjow fell forwards, his mind blank and his actions guided by nothing but primal instinct as he met Szayel's gasping lips again. Moaning when that skilled tongue desperately connected against his own, Grimmjow opened his mouth and allowed the other entry, their hips still jerking back and forth in time with each merciless slide of cock inside that intoxicating heat.

Tears of pleasure were falling down Szayel's cheeks, droplets landing against Grimmjow's shoulder. The Sexta reached up and caressed the other's neck with his fingertips, their free hands still laced together. They were both close, the tell-tale twitch of cocks letting them know that neither of them would be able to last much longer.

Slipping his tongue away from the other's and pulling back from his mouth, Grimmjow ceased the rocking of his hips, locking sharp cyan eyes with deep golden. A faint expression of confusion swept over flushed pale features, but that look was quickly smoothed over into ecstatic joy when the Sexta pulled out entirely and grabbed Szayel carefully by the shoulders, seating the younger man up and turning him around to face him.

Milky thighs wrapped around Grimmjow's waist, Szayel moaning and his head falling forwards weakly against Grimmjow's shoulder, his arms lacing around the other's neck even as Grimmjow aligned himself at Szayel's slicked entrance once more. Managing to glance back into each other's eyes, faint smiles appeared on lips, Grimmjow reaching up and caressing the man's cheek with his fingertips. He slid further towards the Octava's entrance, the tip of his leaking cock almost breaching the man's hole.

"Y-yer not gonna hear me… haa… say this again so… so pay attention…" The Sexta panted out, a grin forming on his lips. Szayel managed an amused look in his eyes through his hazed features, the man resting his forehead against the other's. Grimmjow's grin drew wider as he leant forwards to capture pale lips with his own.

"I... love... you." He whispered in between his attempts for breath. He could feel the Octava stiffen up at this, a faint gasp parting his lips even as they were tenderly assaulted by Grimmjow's own. Szayel closed his eyes, a grin of his own forming on his lips. He entwined long fingers through unruly blue locks, pressing his mouth against the other's with reverence.

"Feeling's m-mutual... Jaegerjaquez." He panted softly, sliding his mouth once more over the man's firm lips.

Chuckling, Grimmjow slid his arms to wrap around Szayel's back, the pink haired male wrapping his own arms around the Sexta's toned torso in response. Lips meeting lips hungrily once more, Grimmjow thrust back up inside the other's quivering entrance, passionate cries being swallowed by each other's mouths even as bodies jerked and shuddered, hips snapping and rocking together in perfect harmony.

Moans soon became wild screams and cries of ecstasy, both men now fully at their limit and desperately chasing their inevitable fast-approaching peak. With one final drive home, time seemed to all but stop, Szayel's head falling back and a loud echoing scream of pleasure leaving his lips as his prostate was roughly hit. He froze, his eyes half-lidded and hazed as he reached his peak, his cock exploding with hot spurts as he met his release, coating his stomach and Grimmjow's chest.

Grimmjow's mind went blank as he watched his lover climax, the man's velvety walls tightening around his cock and milking him for all he was worth. Unable to hold on any longer, Grimmjow reached up and seized pale lips with his own, biting down on the plump skin and slipping his tongue inside that moist mouth as he jerked forwards, animalistic snarls escaping his lips and a loud growl of pleasure following soon after as he too reached his peak.

He saw white, his abdomen pooling with blissful heat as he climaxed, exploding deep inside his lover's body and Szayel twitching and shaking in response as his insides became coated with the result of Grimmjow's release. Breathless high moans filled the air, cries and echoing screams of each other's names being repeated over and over like some kind of mantra as their hips rocked and rolled, the two riding out the waves of their pleasure, too far gone to come back down from their high.

Szayel's body fell weakly against Grimmjow's, the man reduced to nothing but a mere shivering twitching mess, his pants for breath echoing thickly through his dizzy mind and his heart pounding viciously inside of his chest. Their hips continued to rock, Grimmjow groaning lowly and pressing his lips to Szayel's cheek, trailing his mouth down towards his jawline and his neck, then down towards his shoulder, feasting upon every expanse of skin that was available to him.

He could feel the other's heartbeat against his as their chests pressed together, the two completely sapped of their energy and utterly spent as their hips finally came to a pause. Wincing slightly, their teeth grit as Grimmjow slowly pulled out, being careful not to hurt the Octava. Hands wound once more through silken pink locks, sated cyan eyes meeting equally sated golden as Grimmjow lightly pushed the other back against the mattress, the Sexta falling against the other and closing his eyes as his head rested against the other's chest.

Szayel managed a smile, his fingers gently stroking through blue locks as the two tried to regain their breath. It was some time until either of them could speak, finally regaining control over their breathing.

"If you… if you think that that's somethin' which means nothin' and can be blamed on a spur of the moment, I'm gonna fucking kick yer ass." Grimmjow managed out hoarsely after a prolonged silence.

Szayel opened his eyes slowly, reaching up his free hand and wiping his brow, brushing away locks of damp hair. He smiled softly, a quiet laugh falling from his lips. He continued to absentmindedly stroke his fingers through unruly blue hair, glancing down to fondly eye the Sexta, Grimmjow's head now lifted slightly and the tanned male gazing sincerely at the Octava from the man's pale chest. Bringing his fingers down to stroke against the man's cheek, Szayel shook his head, his smile widening.

"No, Grimmjow… I don't…" He whispered, his own voice hoarse after the impassioned moans and cries of pleasure that had torn from his throat.

Grimmjow closed his eyes, leaning into the other's touch and nodding.

"Good." He grunted. Szayel continued to smile.

"Thank you…" He murmured quietly, tracing his thumb over firm lips.

Cyan eyes opened once more, an amused yet content expression forming in blue depths.

Pressing his lips against the man's thumb, already feeling the clutches of sleep move to claim him, Grimmjow shifted to prop himself on his elbows on either side of Szayel's chest, the Sexta leaning up to press his lips once more to the sweet tasting mouth of the Octava.

"You're welcome…" He mumbled, his lips once more falling into a well-practiced slow dance against Szayel's. The pink haired man grinning faintly, tongues slipped out and slid together, faint moans of pleasure passing between the two once more.

As they slowly pulled apart some while later, needing to regain their breath yet again, hands met and clasped tightly together even as Grimmjow's head fell back against Szayel's neck, the Octava resting his head atop the Sexta's and the pair falling asleep some few moments later.

* * *

It had been one month since that day.

As he gazed at the ceiling above him, cyan eyes lazily regarding the dim lighting of the room reflecting off of white walls, the deep red carpets and the dark wooden furniture, Grimmjow found his mind reflecting on everything seemingly impossible which had happened over the course of his time in Las Noches.

So many things, so many ridiculous and downright laughable things had happened to him that it was enough to make his mind dizzy with the overwhelming shock of it all. He knew that he had changed drastically from when he had first awoken to this godforsaken place, no longer the man that he had once been when he was living in the dregs of Soul Society. He had been a true predator then, a merciless foe who had no cares for rules or obligations. However, all that had changed when he had become what he was now. Aizen had ensured to that, effectively boxing him in and keeping him tight under surveillance. The Sexta had no choice but to allow his stubborn pride to be quelled somewhat, just so he could bide his time until he could finally lash out.

But that oddly enough did not matter to him as strongly as it had once done. He still hated Aizen with a passion, his blood rising to a boil just at the mere thought and mention of the man's name, but by far the most amusing issue to him right now was where he found himself, at this present point in time, once more lying in bed with the man he had at one stage considered to be an enemy.

Tightening his arms a little more around the slender torso resting atop his, Grimmjow's hand began absentmindedly stroking down the Octava's back, the Sexta dropping his gaze to quietly observe the pale man's face buried against his neck, his cheeks half-hidden by locks of his pink hair. Allowing himself a grin at the irony of the entire situation for not the first time, Grimmjow continued to fondly watch the younger man as he slept.

_To think I really couldn't stand you at some point,_ he mused, his hand still stroking down warm skin. He would have laughed then if only he wasn't so concerned about waking the man up. Biting back a snort at how soft he truly had become, Grimmjow's eyes lifted to watch the streams of artificial sunlight through the nearby window, the land outside blanketed in the pale blue morning sky of the ceiling of Las Noches.

They would often wake up like this, bodies wrapped around each other and held closely. Aizen had so far made no further move against them, instead keeping to his own affairs and paying them no apparent second mind. Still, this calm before the eminent storm was what kept the two Espada on constant alert, the pair spending every second of every day that they could together when they were able to, and ending their night always in the company of the other, whether sexually or no. After all, neither knew when the next day would be their last. This deep affection they had for the other was continuously mused over, neither Szayel nor Grimmjow still able to fully comprehend how they became such profound lovers in the first place.

But what they could agree on was that it had happened. And now that it had, neither of them would trade it for the world. Not even if Soul Society threatened to invade and kill off all the residents of Hueco Mundo one by one, or if Aizen finally reigned victorious over this world and the next, and the one beyond.

Grimmjow was brought out of his thoughts by the faint groan sounding from near his ear. The blue haired man lowered his gaze to observe the Octava stirring, golden eyes slowly blinking out of sleep and Szayel stretching his limbs slightly.

Sharp eyes now fully focused and blinking once more, deep amber orbs shifted to glance directly into cyan blue, a faint grin forming on pale lips even as they were seized momentarily by Grimmjow's mouth, faint moans of appreciation parting the two in response. When he pulled away slowly a long moment later, Grimmjow's brows creased into a look of confusion at the knowing glance in golden orbs, Szayel's brow arched in amusement.

"What?" The Sexta asked, his voice gruff with sleep.

He was met with a quiet chuckle in reply.

"What are you thinking?" Szayel's voice was soft, the look of amusement still etched onto pale delicate features.

Grimmjow scoffed faintly, grinning.

"The hell kind of question is that?" He asked, his eyes glinting with mirth. Szayel rolled his eyes, the Octava shifting to rest his head back against the Sexta's chest.

"You have that look in your eyes." Was all the man responded with.

Grimmjow was silent for a moment, the Sexta sighing and running a hand over his forehead.

"I dunno… It's been a month, you know? Makes ya wonder when he's gonna plan on striking." He grumbled under his breath.

Szayel gave a quiet sigh, a soft murmur of agreement falling from his lips. He trailed long fingers slowly down the tanned muscle of Grimmjow's chest, delighting in the warmth of the man's skin. He closed his eyes, placing feather-light kisses across the Sexta's collarbone, gradually moving up towards his neck. A rumbling purr of satisfaction left Grimmjow's lips, earning a soft smile from the pink haired male. He traced his fingers up over the blue haired man's cheek, Grimmjow tightening his arms around his lover as he did so.

"Aizen's called a meeting today. Perhaps we'll get our answer then." Szayel muttered faintly a moment later.

There was another silence. Lifting his head, Szayel observed Grimmjow's features set into a look of heavy contemplation, an expression of anxiety clearly etched into his blue eyes. It was some while until the Sexta responded.

"Yeah… probably." He murmured, his voice strained.

Szayel continued to watch his lover carefully, understanding the conflicted emotions the Sexta was feeling. If today truly was the meeting in which Aizen revealed to the Espada this so-called 'war advantage' that he had spoken of, it was highly likely, in fact it was absolutely certain, that the Gotei 13 would wage their assault on Las Noches within the upcoming weeks.

He had not spoken to Grimmjow of this yet, but Szayel had already begun making preparations. Ever since that day when he had first discovered Aizen using his surveillance system, he had been setting aside data of Aizen's zanpakutou. It was no secret within Las Noches that the shinigami traitor's Kyouka Suigetsu contained hypnotic abilities, and if Szayel's suspicions were correct, Aizen had been utilising these abilities to maintain control over Hueco Mundo.

Part of him wondered if Aizen had allowed him to discover the man's surveillance on purpose, just to provide some form of entertainment as to what the scientist's actions would be in retaliation. Biting back a dry chuckle, Szayel knew that without a doubt he was playing into the hands of the shinigami traitor, acting just as expected. But he would be damned if he would allow Aizen to get away with what he had done. He was no fool, and he knew many tricks of his own. He could only hope that this new object that the traitor had his sights set on would detract away from the work the Octava was currently undertaking within his laboratory.

Sighing faintly, Szayel offered a slight smile, tracing his thumb over Grimmjow's bottom lip. Cyan eyes moved to gaze into deep golden.

"We'll figure something out." The Octava murmured quietly. "At the very least we can hope that whatever or whoever this new advantage is will somehow backfire on Aizen and help us show to the others what he's really like."

Grimmjow blinked, mulling over his lover's words. He grinned slightly.

"Always so optimistic, Octava." He replied, smirking. Szayel rolled his eyes, the pink haired man chuckling.

"One of us has to be, you barbarian." He retorted, his eyes glinting with mirth. Grimmjow laughed, running his hands through pink locks and pulling the other down slightly so their lips met and caressed slowly together once more. When they pulled apart, a sincere look was in Grimmjow's eyes. Szayel's smile faded, seeing the seriousness in the man's expression.

"I love you, Szayelaporro Granz. You know that, but I'm just sayin' it again. If Aizen thinks that he can get away with this without expectin' some sort of backlash, he has another thing comin' for him." Grimmjow murmured. Szayel regarded the blue haired man carefully, a faint smile pulling at his lips.

"I love you too, Grimmjow. But if you allow yourself to continue falling into these depressing conversations first thing in the morning I am going to royally 'kick your ass' as it were, my dear." He replied, a brow raising in amusement.

A bark of laughter left Grimmjow's lips.

"Shut up." He scoffed.

A self-satisfied smile forming on pale lips, Szayel chuckled as he rested his head back against Grimmjow's shoulder, the two remaining in each other's arms until the sun rose high through the arched window.

* * *

No one dared to speak as they took their places, the assembled ten on full alert as they glanced from one to another with questioning expressions upon faces.

The meeting hall of Las Noches was silent, eerily so, as footsteps echoed around the cavernous space.

They had received the report from Ichimaru Gin some short while ago, requesting they seat themselves down. The time had come. Aizen's plans for the upcoming war were about to be revealed. Even now, as cold brown eyes swept over the Espada, Aizen's voice carrying through the still air as the shinigami traitor paused in his steps before them, taking his own seat at the head of the centre table, none dared to even breathe aloud lest they miss out on the information which was about to be imparted with them.

From where they were located, Szayel and Grimmjow shared a quick glance, knowing gazes echoing in golden and cyan eyes as the ruler of Las Noches continued with his words. Their conversation from this morning still echoing within their minds, their expressions were meaningful and were unnoticed by everyone except them as they slowly redirected their stares towards the brown haired man.

"As Gin has already informed you, the time is finally upon us to exact our long awaited punishment on Soul Society, my friends. If you will focus your attention on the projector, I will now reveal to you that which I have been seeking for many months now. Our new ally, which will turn our fortunes in this war."

They had not known what they were expecting to see once the video recording was revealed, but as soon as they saw the figure of an orange haired youth, barely out of his late teenager years in the holographic display rising from the projector disc, eyes widened. Swallowing thickly, the Sexta and Octava remained silent, even as stunned gasps and whispers slowly rang out from the remaining eight in that large hall.

Sharing another quick glance, as cyan eyes locked onto deep golden, it was with that one look alone in which the pair knew that their fate truly had been sealed. This human was going to die for a hopeless cause. Just like the rest of them. Determined to prevent this from happening by any means possible, the pair drew their attention back towards the visual.

"What's his name?" Grimmjow asked, his rough voice carrying across the meeting hall, now that silence had resumed.

He and Szayel flicked their gazes towards the shinigami traitor as he swept his calculating stare over the Sexta. A smirk pulled at the corners of Aizen's lips.

"I'm glad you asked, Grimmjow. His name is Kurosaki Ichigo."

* * *

**THE END OF THE BEGINNING.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another story, another smutty ending. 
> 
> Major smutty ending. Yikes. 
> 
> Thank you for reading this! I hope you enjoyed :) I was asked by a few people on fanfiction to make a prologue for these two to further explain their pasts, as they were touched on briefly in the main story (probably should have put this in the first chapter note, but whatever). So this was the result as you can see!
> 
> I'd like to thank you again for reading, and enjoy your day/night!
> 
> \- iJapan


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